


Anytime At All

by duplicity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chaotic Bullshit, Fluff, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Muggle Harry Potter, Sexual Humor, Swearing, Wizard Tom Riddle, harry could not give less of a fuck, this was going to be short and then it was not so now it has chapters, tom gives many fucks and a lot of them have feelings, we are up to our eyeballs in fluff now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: After a spending the night with a handsome man he met at a bar, Harry agrees to a request for future hookups 'anytime'.Tom, a wizard, takes that statement as blanket consent to show up—quite literally—whenever he likes. Harry, who is definitelynota wizard, is not amused.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 286
Kudos: 824





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was incubating in my head for a while, then it exploded into thousands of words. 
> 
> fair warning, but i bully tom a LOT at the start of this story. he gets his feelings hurt more than once but rly some of it is his own fault lmao. it gets into fluff from there 💕
> 
> thank you to the lovelies in my server for cheering me on 

Harry woke up.

In the brief second of time that existed between being not-awake and being _awake-awake,_ everything was perfectly normal.

Harry was curled on his side in his bed, his face smushed against his cheap cotton pillowcase. His head was throbbing only slightly, a sign that he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, and his left arm was numb and tingly after lying on it for too long.

Then the blissful second of ignorance passed, and Harry came to realize that he was not alone in his bed as he had originally presumed. There was a distinct weight pressed against his back, spooning him, and an accompanying arm draped over his torso like he was an oversized teddy bear.

Slowly, last night's events came trickling back into Harry's head.

Harry had gone by himself to his usual haunt for a Friday drink, his half-assed attempt to destress after a busy day of being harassed by various customers at work. The drink had helped somewhat, taking the edge off enough for him to pull out of his own head and observe the other bar patrons.

A few seats further down had been Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody.

They had made eye contact. Harry could tell that his interest was at least somewhat reciprocated, if only because he had experience with these types of jerkass-looking blokes who thought his genial appearance meant he'd be an easy lay.

That night, however, Harry had been in the mood to throw caution to the winds, ready and willing to play the ridiculous mind games that led to the inevitable your-place-or-mine.

The bloke, Tom, was charming enough, if a bit full of himself. He was certainly a looker, which was one of the few requirements Harry had for his one-night stands aside from the ever-essential 'don't be an axe murderer' and 'must use condoms'. So Harry had invited Tom back to his dumpy flat for a good time, and a fairly good time had been had.

Though, 'good time' was perhaps a little generous. Harry had experienced better lays, for sure, and he had also experienced worse ones. Tom was one of the middling types who could have stood to be more considerate of his partner, but overall it was a job done well enough, so Harry couldn't really complain.

"Good morning," came the deep, sleep-thickened rumble of Tom's voice from just behind Harry's right ear.

"Morning," Harry said in response. He felt Tom's hand touch at his forearm briefly, then withdraw. Harry hoped that Tom would roll away completely, because as nice as the spooning was, his back felt vaguely sweaty and gross, and this was not how Harry wanted to be remembered. He wanted to be remembered as a really cute bloke you slept with once and then wished later on that you'd thought to ask out on a proper date.

There was a press of lips against the side of Harry's neck, and then, thankfully, Tom shifted away, rolling onto his back. Harry turned over immediately, intent on looking Tom in the eyes so he could gauge what sort of response he ought to give.

The fact that Tom had not vanished in the middle of the night meant he wasn't the ditching type, which was a point in the man's favour. If the good behaviour continued, Harry might be inclined to ask if Tom wanted breakfast.

Tom yawned and stretched, arms flexing over his head. That had to be intentional, Harry grumbled internally as he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on Tom's face.

"I had a good time last night," Harry said aloud, testing the waters.

Tom paused mid-stretch, lowering his arms and shifting his torso in Harry's direction. "So did I."

There was a brief pause in which Tom's exacting gaze roamed over Harry's face. Harry could feel himself flushing at the depth of Tom's attention despite himself.

Once Tom had apparently looked his fill of Harry's face, he added on, "I'd be willing to do this again some time, if you were amenable to it."

He'd be _willing_ to? Harry was tempted to kick the smug git out of bed right that moment. Did Tom honestly think Harry was that hard pressed for bed partners? Or did he think that Harry's testimony of a good time was on par with declaring last night as the sexual equivalent of nirvana? 

Whatever the reason, Tom was rapidly losing whatever points he'd gained from being a halfway-decent human being who was, presumably, not an axe murderer.

Harry stared, trying to discern just how serious the offer was. Tom's face was... well, it was still handsome, unfortunately. But on the positive side, Tom seemed genuinely serious about the entire thing of being casual fuck buddies, even if he was going about it in the totally wrong way.

Harry's silence went on long enough that Tom appeared to recognize his faux pas. Tom cleared his throat once, his lips smoothing into the same sultry smile he had flashed at Harry last night at the bar. Then he tilted his head ever so slightly to the left, a move no doubt practiced in the mirror to show off his best angles.

"I really did have a wonderful time last night," Tom repeated, his tone sweet like honey, laid on about as thick as Nutella on toast.

Alright, so Tom was _trying._ There were points to be had for making an honest attempt to not be a total dickwad. Harry resisted the urge to rub at his temples. It was getting to be too early in the morning for Harry to try and reason his way through this. Harry needed the loo, water, and breakfast. Preferably in that order, and regardless of whether or not Tom was sticking around for any of it.

"Sure," Harry said. Why the hell not. Harry wasn't seeing anyone at the moment, and Tom was definitely on the hotter end of handsome blokes that Harry had messed around with. The personality thing was absolutely a work in progress, but Harry only had to put up with the man's ego for however long it was to get them both in and out of a bed.

Tom's smile widened with triumph. Harry fought an impulse to deliberately roll his eyes. That would not end well for either of them at the moment, mainly because Tom's inexorable offense at being mocked would cause Harry to dissolve into side-splitting laughter.

"Fantastic," Tom said smugly. "So, anytime?"

That was a very, very, _very_ vague word that could mean almost anything. Anytime? Anytime what? Harry balked for a second, then remembered that his goal was now to get to the bathroom, not to engage in bullshittery.

"Hit me up anytime," Harry said agreeably. He could always say 'no' later on if he wanted to. "I'm going to wash up and make breakfast," Harry added on. "You're welcome to stay if you like." Would be kind of rude to kick Tom out after agreeing to hook up again somewhere down the line.

"I'm afraid I have to take my leave, but do I appreciate the offer." Tom swung his legs out of the bed and started to pull his socks on.

That was fine by Harry. "Alright," Harry said, unbothered. "I'll be right back." He gestured loosely in the direction of the bathroom.

"See you," Tom replied, sounding almost absent-minded as he gathered his clothes up from their various places on the ground.

Harry shut himself in his bathroom and went through his usual morning routine with some haste. He'd shower once Tom was gone, but the morning breath definitely needed to go.

A few scarce minutes later, Harry re-entered his bedroom, which was now empty, and rummaged through his clothes for a clean t-shirt and some pants. Once dressed, Harry stepped out into his living room.

Which was also empty.

Harry stood there like an idiot for a good while, his eyes fixed, unseeing, on his empty flat. What the fuck? Where had Tom gone? Harry didn't think they had exchanged numbers last night, but maybe they had and he had forgotten?

They must have exchanged numbers. It made no sense for Tom to up and leave after being the one to suggest they hook up a second time. Harry shook his confusion off and moved over to his kitchen, intent on serving up a nice hearty bowl of Coco Pops now that there were no posh blokes around to impress with his signature scrambled eggs.

* * *

Some days went by. Harry went back to his menial bank job and wondered if he had somehow managed to offend Tom after all. There was no one named 'Tom' in his list of contacts, and his phone did not buzz or ring with any unknown numbers.

Then, one random Thursday evening while Harry was watching an episode of Chopped on his laptop, there was a loud, threatening **_CRACK!_ ** right in the middle of his living room.

"What the FUCK!" Harry shouted, jolting upright, his laptop tumbling off to the side as he struggled to his feet. "What the bloody buggering fucking _fuck_ you motherfucking bitch ass bastard! WHAT THE _FUCK!"_

Fucking _Tom_ was standing in the middle of his fucking living room in a fucking bathrobe of some kind, brushing invisible lint off his chest like the absolute asswipe he was as he raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction. "No 'hello'?"

"You—" Harry said angrily, all common sense fleeing him as he stomped forwards, seized Tom by the lapels of his ridiculous charcoal bathrobe, and gave him a violent shake. "I'm going to _kill_ you! What the fuck!! How the hell did you get into my house!?"

Tom appeared genuinely shocked by the outraged response, which was not _allowed,_ it was _not,_ because Harry's flat had just been invaded by a wacked-out bloke who had not bothered leaving his number behind because he could fucking _teleport._

Tom recovered quickly, though, his brow smoothing over. "In my defense," Tom said stiffly, "I've found that Muggles generally respond positively to my displays of magic. You're the first one who's actively tried to attack me."

Harry was flabbergasted. "What kind of batshit people have you been sleeping with?! And what the fuck is a Muggle?"

From there, Tom tried to explain. Then he had to try and explain a second time because Harry slapped him for being an arrogant asshole with his first explanation. 

And then, finally, after a good deal of swearing and threats were had, Harry had heard enough that he needed to sit down and think about a great many things, the foremost of those things being how the hell the universe actually worked, because magic was apparently a real thing, and Tom was a bleeding _wizard._

But first, before any of what Tom told him truly sunk in, Harry had to ask:

"Are you trying to tell me that teleporting into people's houses for a booty call is something that actually _works_ for you?"

Tom must not have had an answer for that because he rubbed at his cheekbone where Harry had slapped him and said, "Do you mind if I conjure some ice? Or will that result in you yelling at me again?"

"You're a moron," Harry said testily. "I have ice in my fridge. You stay right here and _don't move_ or else I'll string you up by your thumbs."

Tom's mouth twitched like he was suppressing the urge to say something. Very smart of him to stay quiet. It was highly likely that any smartarse response from Tom would lead to Harry's sanity snapping like a fine thread, and _that_ would lead to Harry tackling him in the unsexy, axe-murderer way.

"And you best keep your deranged magic to yourself!" Harry called over his shoulder, just for good measure.

When he returned to the living room, Tom was stood in the same spot, arms folded over his chest. Harry held out his bag of peas. "Here."

"Thank you," Tom said, polite as you please, and accepted the bag, pressing it delicately to his face. Oh, so _now_ the prat decided to have manners?

Harry glared daggers in Tom's direction. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could set Tom on fire with magic. Not that Harry knew how magic worked or anything, but it was a nice mental image to have.

"So," Tom said, once it became clear that Harry was not in the mood for friendly banter, "are you going to invite me to sit down?"

"No," said Harry.

Tom shifted the bag of peas on his face. "Straight to the bedroom, then?" he said lightly, smirking.

* * *

Tom was sat on Harry's couch, bag of peas in one hand, bag of corn kernels in the other. He was scowling as Harry glared at him. Harry was still trying to set Tom on fire with his eyes to no avail.

"You deserved that," Harry told him. "That was not funny."

"You hit me twice," Tom complained. "I think we're more than even."

"Don't be a piss baby," Harry said. "Can't you just, I dunno, magic yourself better?"

"That is not how magic _works,"_ Tom grit out. "There are specific potions and salves for injuries like these." One of his hands lowered, pulling the bag of peas away from his face. 

It really didn't look that bad. Harry did honestly think Tom was just being a baby about this. Sure, Harry hit hard, but Tom was a grown ass man. He ought to be able to take a smacking for running his mouth like a total prick.

Harry eyed Tom with skepticism. "Can you conjure that stuff? Like with ice?"

"If I could, rest assured that I would be doing it."

"If I was to rank all the things you did in my flat today on a scale of one to ten, with one being stupider than a brick, and ten being Einstein, then I'd say I was pretty valid in asking that question. Y'know, just to check that you weren't being stupid."

Tom threw the bag of peas at him. Harry stumbled half a step back and caught it before it could hit his face. "Touchy."

"I could kill _you,"_ Tom said pointedly. "But I am kindly refraining from doing so."

"Because I'm great in bed," Harry retorted. "Though I feel I should mention I don't sleep with axe murderers. It's on the 'no' list."

Tom muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. Then he said, at regular volume, "You said I could come over _anytime."_

This was sad. Harry felt sad. Maybe he'd hit Tom so hard that all the rest of the screws had also fallen loose. Did Tom honestly believe Harry had given blanket consent for Tom to come in anytime and ask if Harry was down to fuck?

Looking at the miffed, petulant expression on Tom's face, it would seem that was the case. Harry had somehow saddled himself with a lunatic wizard for a fuck buddy. Fan-bloody-tastic. Now what was he going to do? There was a whiny lump sat on his couch complaining about mistreatment and semantics. All Harry had wanted was a decent lay every so often, and now he wasn't even getting that.

Tom removed the pack of frozen corn from his face and retrieved a long stick of wood from somewhere in his bathrobe. It had to be a wand. Harry really, really hoped it was just a magic wand. He didn't think he could handle anything weirder than that.

Tom used his magic wand to conjure—surprise!—a mirror with which to examine his injured face. Truly there was no shame in this man. Not a single bloody ounce of it.

Gross. Tom was gross. Harry wanted to wring Tom's personality out of his body so they could try again with a new one.

"You're gross," Harry said, side stepping his coffee table so he could loom over Tom properly, "and I am going to regret this for the rest of my life."

Tom vanished the mirror he'd been holding and looked up at Harry, his eyes narrowing. "Regret, _what,_ exactly?"

"Agreeing to _this,"_ Harry said, matter of fact, and hauled Tom up for a kiss.

* * *

Some time later, Harry stretched languidly in his bed, arching his back to knock out the kinks in it. The tug of his muscles was a pleasant sort of burn, the kind that implied a job well done.

Mmmm, yes. A job well done. "I'm a bit peckish," Harry said. "D'you want a snack? Or some water?"

Since Harry had sat up and pulled away, the bedsheet had fallen down slightly, exposing half of Tom's back. Tom was laid out on his stomach, his face buried into Harry's pillow, his limbs like a boneless octopus' with the way they were stretched out in the direction of Harry's warm spot. Harry gave Tom's shoulder a pat to get his attention, and Tom gave a sleepy mumble in response.

Huh. Harry had quite possibly discovered how to shut Tom up. Squinting at his bed partner, Harry wondered if anyone had ever manhandled Tom into bed before. Probably not, he decided. Based on what Harry had gathered about Tom's previous partners, Tom had been in charge of _those_ hook ups.

Well, not anymore. Tom had finally met someone who was sane enough to yell at him for being a weirdo.

Harry pushed his glasses onto his face and padded out of his bedroom and into his kitchen, where he began the process of opening and closing all his cupboards. There were things in the cupboards, sure, but he didn't feel like eating any of those things.

Eventually, Harry settled on opening a package of fancy biscuits he'd been telling himself to save for a special occasion. Harry ate up three biscuits, then followed it up with a glass of water. The water helped clear his head quite well, and he was now feeling more alert.

With that, Harry decided he ought to bring Tom some water anyways. Dehydration was no joke, and Harry didn't fully believe that Tom knew how to take care of himself.

"Water," Harry said as he re-entered the bedroom, glass in hand.

Tom had since migrated his octopus-self onto the side of the bed that Harry had been occupying. Tom's face was still nowhere to be seen, which was a shame, but it was also maybe a tiny bit cute. Harry had worn the poor bloke out.

"C'mon," Harry said, setting the glass down on his side table and giving Tom's shoulder a firm shake. "You need to drink something."

Tom's arm slid out from underneath the blanket and latched onto Harry's forearm like a tentacle. "Come back to bed," Tom said in a low voice. It might have been sexy if not for the fact that Tom was utterly wiped out, which meant Harry instead compared Tom's tone of voice to that of a sleepy, irritable toddler.

Clearly, Harry was being too nice. Niceness was not the way to getting Tom to do what he wanted. "Get up, idiot," Harry said, "and drink some water."

_That_ made Tom roll over enough to reveal part of his face. One eyeball and one furrowed brow scowled up at Harry. Harry held the stare, unfazed, and then Tom sat up and snatched the glass of water off the table.

The water disappeared pretty fast for someone who had claimed to not be thirsty. Harry debated climbing over Tom to get to the free half of the bed, then decided that would be interpreted as an open invitation to more fucking, which it absolutely was not. Harry plodded around his own bed and lay down on the free side, pulling the covers over himself.

Tom finished with the water, setting the empty glass down. Then he pivoted in Harry's direction, still not saying anything. Harry was bemused. Did Tom want pillow talk?

"So you're a wizard," Harry remarked.

Tom's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Which, Harry supposed, was fair enough. Declarations of magic had, over the course of their brief association with each other, been met with declarations of violence. And actual violence, technically. Tom's left cheekbone was definitely going to bruise somewhat.

"And you're a Muggle," Tom replied, disdainful. Evidently, the glass of water had made his voice normal again. This was unfortunate news.

This time, Harry did roll his eyes. "Are you staying the night?" Harry asked.

Tom blinked at the question. Good! Harry hated to think he was being predictable. Best to keep Tom on his toes.

Shockingly, Tom appeared to give his answer some actual thought—which had to be a first for him—before he said, "Did you want me to?"

_Ah, Tom,_ thought Harry, _this is where we differ._

"Up to you," Harry said affably. "But it's a work day tomorrow, so I'd like to go to bed. My alarm's at half-past seven, by the way."

Tom’s face stiffened. "Perhaps I'll head home, then."

"Uh huh." Harry waited to see if Tom was going to move. If Tom left, then Harry was going to roll into the warm spot.

Tom did not move. Hmmm. Harry looked Tom up and down as subtly as he could, trying to puzzle out the reason for the delay. Was Tom upset that Harry didn't care if he spent the night?

The silence and stillness continued. Harry raised his brows. Tom harrumphed, his eyes flickering between Harry and the bedroom door, and then he said, "So... until next time?"

Harry could have facepalmed. He was fairly sure this was a facepalm moment. This Tom bloke was like a kicked puppy. "Do you have a mobile?" Harry asked, somewhat desperate. From the resulting scrunched expression Tom made, Harry could assume not. "You know what—nevermind. Just know that if you show up again without fair warning, you _will_ be attacked without remorse."

Tom shuffled out of the bed, setting both feet on the floor. While Tom got dressed, Harry slid slowly to the left of the bed. Ah, warm sheets. Wonderful.

"Are you just going to—" Harry made a loopy hand gesture in the air. "Going to teleport?"

"It's called Apparition."

"Are you going to poof?" Harry said, just to be annoying.

"Good bye, Harry," said Tom flatly. Then he did a funny sort of turn and vanished with a soft 'pop'.

"What the hell," Harry said into his empty bedroom. "What the fuck was that sound from earlier, then? Like someone was being shot at!"

Harry's bedroom did not answer. Harry grumbled to himself about empty-headed pretty boys, then rolled over to his lamp, shutting it off. It was long past time for him to get some sleep. Maybe Tom being a wizard was a ludicrous fever dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to make it clear i'm not advocating for hitting your partner, ofc, but harry just got the shock of his life from a home invasion so he is understandably confused and angry. hence the smacking.


	2. Several Mornings Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom visits Harry again. And again. And again. Harry isn't the only one starting to wonder what it all means.

Harry unlocked the door to his flat and shoved his way inside. He saw that all the lights were on, and then he saw Tom. Tom was sitting on the couch, his hands folded neatly over his crossed legs.

"Hello, Harry," said Tom. He sounded too pleased with himself, like he'd learned a particularly clever trick and was now expecting head pats for it.

"Better," Harry allowed. "But you're still invading my flat without permission."

"You _invited_ me," Tom said pointedly. "You offered me a standing invitation."

Harry huffed in exasperation, shedding his coat and tossing it up onto the wall hook. "You're not a bloody vampire, Tom. Me inviting you into my flat doesn't mean you can just barge in here whenever you like."

"I can come back later if you're busy."

"God." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you even _do?_ Do you even have a job? Do wizards need jobs?"

"I have a job." Tom sniffed, crossing his arms. Harry noted that Tom was wearing regular clothes and not the bathrobe-thing that Tom had claimed was a perfectly normal article of wizard clothing.

"I'm meeting my friends for dinner tonight," Harry said at last. It was the truth, and it was partly why he was annoyed at Tom, because why couldn't Tom just text like a regular human being? Then there wouldn't be any of this awkwardness of Harry having to tell him to go.

"It's not even five," Tom drawled. "That's far too early for dinner, Harry. You do realize you're allowed to say 'no', right? You won't hurt my feelings if you do."

Harry sincerely doubted that, but he was willing to shove Tom's obvious insecurities aside for now. "I’ve a half-hour drive ahead of me."

Tom flashed a smile. "We can make it quick."

"You sure can," Harry muttered under his breath. Then he paused. Did wizards have super hearing? He looked back up at Tom, whose expression had yet to change. No to that, then. Or else Tom was a very excellent actor.

"Okay, fine," Harry said. "Let's go. I still want time to shower after."

* * *

"You're late," Hermione said disapprovingly. "Was there traffic? Some kind of accident?"

"Something like that, yeah," Harry said, rubbing at the back of his neck as he collapsed into his seat. "A really, really awful accident."

"Yikes," said Ron. His eyes were scanning the restaurant behind Harry's shoulder. Ron probably wanted to flag down a waiter to place their orders now that Harry had arrived. "Hope everyone's alright."

Hermione was frowning at him. Then she raised her hand and pointed at her neck, a questioning look on her face.

'Bug bite,' Harry mouthed, then reached to hastily adjust his shirt collar. To Ron, he said, "Oh, everyone's fine. Right as rain, afterwards."

"That's great," Ron said absently, having finally succeeded in spotting a waitress. He waved his hand in the air a few times to get her attention. "I'm glad no one got hurt."

"Yep," Harry said weakly. "I'm glad, too."

* * *

Harry was in the middle of filing his bloody fucking taxes the next time Tom showed up.

When the telltale 'crack' of Tom's magic echoed in his living room, Harry did not jump in the slightest, and he wasted no time in saying, "Not right now, Tom," without looking up from where he was hunched over his laptop and squinting at his tax software.

Tom opened his mouth to speak. Harry could _see_ this happening out of the corner of his eye. He could very plainly see that Tom was about to say something completely idiotic in his attempt to get Harry into bed, and he was not about to have it. Not in his flat, not while he was filing _taxes._

_"I said not right now, Tom."_

"Ahem. Alright." There was another soft 'crack', and then Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Tom had listened to him.

* * *

"You're seeing someone," Hermione accused.

"Am not," Harry said immediately.

"You're seeing someone?" Ron repeated, already sounding utterly convinced, which Harry blamed on the fact that Ron was used to accepting all of Hermione's statements as hard reality.

"I've been messing around with someone," Harry said. "It's not serious. Not that it's anyone's business," he added testily, when both Ron and Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Are they cute?" Hermione asked eagerly, reaching out to place her hands atop Harry's. "What's their name? What do they look like?"

"Erm," said Harry.

"Have you gone on any dates yet? It's been weeks, so you must have—" Hermione broke off, looking thoughtful. Then she added in a lower register, like they were discussing trade secrets, "Are they good in bed?"

"They must be good if Harry's still seeing them," Ron said confidently.

Harry groaned and thumped his head down on the table.

"Oh no," said Hermione. "Have they not taken you on a date? Harry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"We're just fucking around," Harry said despairingly into the wood grain. "We're not dating! He's not even that great. _I'm_ the one doing all the work!"

"Well, that's just sad," said Ron. "You can do better than that, Harry."

"Maybe Harry likes him for his personality," Hermione hissed, digging her elbow into Ron's side. "Not everyone needs to be good at sex."

Harry kept his face pressed down on the table. He'd only just seen Tom yesterday, and he did not know what was going on between them. He was also pretty sure that they had done it on every single surface in his flat by this point. These two points ought to have been related somehow, but Harry no longer had the willpower left in him to try and connect them.

"I think you broke him," Ron said idly to Hermione. Then he poked Harry on the shoulder. "Harry? Earth to Harry? Did you only just realize you were suffering through bad sex 'cause you like this bloke's personality?"

"No," Harry said. "I hate him. He's awful and has no sense of boundaries."

Hermione made a noise of disapproval. "Communication is important! You need to talk through these sorts of problems with him, Harry. Make it clear what you want out of this relationship aside from... aside from mediocre sex."

God. This was not happening. Harry wanted to melt through the table and into the floor so he could fall clean through to the Earth's core, where he would die a glorious, spectacular death.

"When are you seeing him next?" Ron asked. "Do you know? We can help you come up with something."

"No," Harry said. _"We_ are not doing anything. _I_ am going home, where I will drown my sorrows in buckets of ice cream while binge watching MythBusters."

Hermione gave his arm a pat. "We're here for you if you need us, then."

* * *

Harry was in a great mood. A pot of deliciously fragrant chicken masala was cooking away on his stove top while he hummed off-tune to his current playlist of songs he'd stolen from various television shows.

He was so involved in his task that he nearly missed the soft crack of Apparition behind him. Nearly, not actually, which meant he was unsurprised when he felt Tom press up behind him, arm snaking around his waist, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"I'm making dinner," Harry said, amused. "I have a pot on the stove that will burn if I leave it unattended."

"Then turn it off," Tom murmured, nuzzling his way over to Harry's cheek. "And nothing needs to burn."

"It will go bad, and then I will starve."

Tom snorted. "You're a delight, Harry, truly." His arm did not budge from Harry's waist, but he did stop with the nuzzling, which was a start.

Harry blamed his great mood for what came out next:

"And you love it."

The kitchen went silent save for the noise of the curry on the stovetop. Harry feverishly hoped that Tom would take what he'd said as stupid teasing and not some outlandish declaration of affection, because he was _not_ prepared to deal with the fallout of that. Not to mention Harry had no idea what the fallout would be in the first place, let alone if there would even _be_ any fallout.

Alright, damn it, _fine,_ Harry hoped there would be no fallout.

"So is that a pass on dinner?" Tom asked, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual. The question ought to have been Tom's typical attempt at being charming, but because it sounded off, Harry felt weird about hearing it.

If Harry said no, then Tom would leave, just like he had all the other times he had shown up and Harry had been too busy or too tired to say yes. If Harry said yes, then they would go at it for a while, and Harry's lovingly-prepared dinner would be left to ruin on the stovetop.

However this went, Harry would be blaming all of it on the l-word that had slipped out of his mouth.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Harry said. He was staring at his pot of chicken, which made this a lot easier to do. He just needed to get this out before he lost his nerve. "I made enough for leftovers, so there's plenty for the both of us. And then after, you know, we can... we can," he finished lamely.

A pause, and then—

"That sounds excellent. I won't distract you any longer, then."

Lo and behold, Tom pulled away and wandered off. Harry counted to three in his head, then chanced a glance to his right. Yep, there was Tom, clad in his signature bathrobe outfit, lounging on Harry's squashy couch like a male model.

At the moment, the robe was really the only peculiar thing about Tom. Aside from the popping in and out all days of the week, Harry hadn't seen very much magic at all. Sometimes, though, new items would materialize in Harry's flat. Pillowcases, for a start. Because apparently Harry's plain cotton ones were not up to par for Tom's pretty face.

Was there a reason for that? Tom often talked about doing magic, about his fancy wizard education at a place called Hogwarts, but he didn't use magic very often.

"Harry," called Tom's voice from the living room. "There's cat hair on your rug. This is disgusting."

"It's Crookshanks’ hair," Harry retorted. "And it's just _hair._ It won't kill you. The rug is on the floor, not in your face."

"I'm allergic," Tom said.

That was new information. Tom had a cat allergy. Wizards could have cat allergies. 

Harry blinked. All this thinking was distracting him from his actual task of minding the food on the stove. "Can't you just magic the hair away or something?" Harry asked, trying to refocus himself.

"Did you want me to?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Tom didn't answer, so Harry assumed he was busy doing magic spells to rid the rug of cat hair.

When the chicken masala was finally done, Harry portioned it onto two plates and called Tom back over.

Tom had shed his bathrobe at some point, revealing the plain charcoal trousers and white button down that lived underneath. The robe was draped awkwardly over Tom's arm as he tried to keep it from touching the floor.

"I can hang that for you," Harry offered.

Tom went to reply, but then he sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed a _third_ time.

"Was there cat hair on the couch?" Harry said, now concerned. "How allergic are you?"

"I'm fine," Tom said with dignity. "Let's have dinner."

"Your robe?"

"I'll hang it," Tom muttered, spinning around and walking over to the coat hooks, where he deposited his wizard robe.

The rest of dinner was great, and after dinner was great as well. Harry hadn't dared ask if Tom planned to stay the night, and so he was pleasantly surprised when Tom snuggled up to him after sex, their arms and legs tangled like they were two fuzzy pipe cleaners twisted together.

When Harry woke the next morning, Tom was not there. But there was a bright red flower—one Harry would later identify as an amaryllis—resting on his side table. This flower was accompanied by a brief note. Harry had never seen Tom's handwriting before, but the loopy, elegant script on this scrap of paper fit the old-timey posh vibes Tom had going on.

Harry snatched up the note and unfolded it. It was an apology for leaving so abruptly.

This was all very weird. Harry refolded the paper and set it down, then went to investigate the flower. This flower must have been made with magic. No way Tom would have had time to go and buy this, right? Harry lifted the flower to his face and sniffed. This was a fresh, fragrant, flowery smell. You couldn't just fake this kind of stuff.

Harry washed up and wandered out of his bedroom. The robe on the hook was gone, as expected. Next, Harry's feet carried him over to his couch, which he bent over to inspect. 

Hermione didn't bring Crookshanks over very often. Crookshanks was more of an outdoorsy, adventure-y type of cat that did whatever the fuck it wanted, and usually that did not include hanging around Harry's tiny flat. But Crookshanks had deigned to visit Harry the other day, curling up in a big lump on Harry's rug and shedding hairs with absolute delight.

There were a few stray ginger hairs clinging to the couch cushions, which made sense. But what was more concerning? The obvious shittons of cat hair that were all over the rug.

Harry stared at his cat-hair infested rug. Hadn't Tom gone to get rid of all that? Or was that something magic couldn't do, and Tom had been too embarrassed to admit it?

Harry resolved to consider asking at a later date and went to go put Tom's flower in a cup full of water.

* * *

Harry did not work up the courage to ask about the cat hair. He did, however, work up the courage to ask a great number of other things, starting with Tom's surname.

"I just think it's a bit stupid we've known each other for months—you even know where I _live—_ and I don't know your last name."

Tom's surname was 'Riddle'. This was the point where, normally, Harry would tell Ron and Hermione, and the three of them would go stalking on social media together to see what Harry's person of interest was all about. In this case, though, there was only one person Harry could go to for answers, and that person was an idiot.

"What do you _mean_ you can't tell me where you work?" Harry demanded. "You told me you're a bloody wizard already—you can't honestly expect me to believe that there are some kind of bullshit wizard laws against telling me what your _job_ is."

"I'm not telling you," Tom said plainly.

Harry glared. "Is this because you're an axe murderer?"

_"Why_ do you insist on bringing that up," Tom said in a strained tone. "I'm not an axe murderer, Harry. I haven't the faintest what would even give you that idea about me."

"You're just weird," Harry said. "There don't need to be any other reasons."

After thinly-veiled threats of withheld home-cooked meals, Harry learned that Tom worked at a shop that specialized in valuable magical items. Items that did not sound strictly legal, either. Harry would have coined Tom's job as working retail, only Tom talked at great length about 'acquisitions' and 'maintenance', so maybe it was more complex than that.

Besides, Harry had other things to worry about. Things like—

"My friends keep asking to meet you, you know."

Tom did not seem bothered by this. "Nice of them to take such an interest."

Harry took a breath, then added, "They ask if we go on dates and stuff."

"And what do you tell them?"

Ah, shit. "Well—we don't really, do we? We eat in all the time. We don't... go anywhere. On a date."

Tom seemed satisfied with this answer. Harry could tell because Tom's hands were creeping closer to his thighs, which meant they were probably due for further horny hand wandering and other illicit activities.

Harry was relieved at the shift in atmosphere. It gave him an excuse to derail the conversation into safer territory. Harry slid onto Tom's lap, straddling him, and gathered Tom's face into his hands.

Tom was watching him carefully, a smile dancing along the corners of his lips. It was almost sweet, that smile. It was a genuine smile, one that made Harry feel like Tom was fond of him. Harry stared at Tom's mouth for a moment longer, then impulsively placed a kiss on either side of it.

Tom made a funny sound, but Harry was too distracted, too consumed with the sensation of his face burning up from the intimacy of what he'd just done. This distraction was his downfall, though, because Tom surged forward to kiss him, hands shifting from Harry's hips to his back, pulling their chests together.

From there, they fell into bed. Harry didn't ask if Tom planned to stay the night—he held tight instead, lacing their fingers into one sweaty lump, and he thought that Tom understood the unspoken message just fine.

* * *

"You've got a spot there."

Harry jolted up. "Where?" he asked, self conscious as he examined his shirt for marks.

When he found nothing, he glanced up to see Hermione's smug face. "Right there," she said. "On your neck."

Fuck. Harry brought both hands up on reflex to block his neck from her line of sight. Tom had stayed over last night. Despite Harry's better judgement, they'd gone at it again in the morning. Harry had speed-showered in his haste to meet Hermione on time for lunch, and by the end of it he'd been too worried about tardiness to think about his outfit choice.

That was how he'd ended up wearing a loose t-shirt. A shirt which meant that his neck, and most of his collarbones, were visible.

"That's the second time this week," Hermione said primly. "I was just too polite to mention it the first time."

Harry did not want to validate her smugness, but he also had no way to defend himself. So he stayed quiet and hoped that he would accept his silence as his spineless concession to defeat. Which it sort of was.

"At this rate, you'll have to go on a date," Hermione continued. "If you don't, then I'll buy some non-refundable tickets and force you to take them."

"You're evil," Harry said. "Pure evil."

Hermione pouted. "Ron's been drafting his shovel talk. He'll be so disappointed if he doesn't get to use it."

"Gah."

"I still don't see why you're so fussed about this. You won't even tell us his name!"

How was Harry supposed to explain that Tom Riddle literally did not exist in their world? Tom did not exist anywhere on the internet, did not work at any place where Ron and Hermione could visit, did not even have a proper British birth certificate that wasn't made up and altered by magic.

How was Harry supposed to explain that he was sort of in a relationship with a wizard whose idea of a hook up had originally involved magically appearing in Harry's flat wearing a bathrobe?

Regular people did not have to explain these things to their friends. Regular people did not have to vacuum their entire flats whenever their friends' cats visited because their weird wizard companions could not seem to vanish cat hair on their own.

"His name is... Tom," said Harry. "That's his name. Tom."

That couldn't possibly hurt, right? Tom was a common name! It wasn't like looking into the mirror and saying 'Bloody Mary' thirteen times. Knowing Tom's _name_ wasn't going to summon him out of nowhere. Wizards couldn't do that, could they?

Inexplicably, Harry was struck with the urge to glance over his shoulder. Just in case.

"That's a fine name," Hermione said agreeably.

Harry shook his head. She had to be humouring him. The first name held little to no actual significance. Now that he had given her an in, however, she would take that as a sign to continue to pry for information.

"Does he have a _last_ name?"

Ah, yes. There it was.

"Nope," said Harry. "He's just Tom. Tom, Tom, Tom." Harry picked up his glass of ginger ale and took a long, long drink of it.

"What does he do for a living? Does he have his own flat?"

Harry kept his mouth full of drink. At this rate, his teeth were going to rot and fall out before he answered her question.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. Keep your secrets. We'll see how long you last."

Was that a dig at his ability to maintain a romantic relationship, or a dig at his ability to keep secrets? Harry opened his mouth to retort, then remembered why his mouth had been shut as he accidentally dribbled ginger ale onto the table. Oops.

Hermione snorted like the wonderful friend she was and handed him a napkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahoy! new chapter! it would seem that this story continues to get longer; we're looking at a total of four chapters now...
> 
> feel free to slam that join link below for my discord server if you'd like to read chapters in advance 
> 
> join my discord server [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


	3. The Mystery of the Cat Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's about to get to the bottom of Tom's aversion to magic.

Harry had prepared an experiment.

After his latest conversation with Hermione, there was a nagging thought that refused to leave his head. A lingering question that persisted at all hours of the day. A puzzle simply begging to be solved.

If Tom was allergic to cat hair, then why the fuck did he never say or do anything about it?

Harry didn't mind cleaning up his flat after Crookshanks visited, but there were times when Tom showed up out of the blue before Harry had gotten the chance to vacuum. It was a very sorry sight indeed to see Tom sitting stiffly on his couch, nose and eyes pink with the sniffles.

It was unfathomable. Tom talked about vanishing things  _ all the time. _ Why was cat hair suddenly different?

Well. Harry was about to find out.

The next time Hermione needed a cat-sitter, Harry selflessly volunteered for the task. Then once the demonic cat had entered his flat, Harry left the door to his bedroom  _ wide open. _ Crookshanks had been kind enough to shed a plethora of cat hair all over the place.

Now, Harry had the decency to feel bad about this. But it wasn't as though Tom was going to offer information out of the goodness of his heart. Harry had tip-toed around the subject of casting magic before, and he had been shut down. Not to mention that Harry still didn't know where Tom  _ lived. _

So Harry was going to find out why Tom refused to use magic in the flat. He would find out even if it meant they had to have sex while Tom was sneezing like a lunatic. Such was the sacrifice Harry was willing to make. 

Tom ought to be grateful that Harry was willing to go to such lengths to untangle his illogical and unreasonable actions. If not for that, they never would have ended up together in the first place.

When Tom appeared in Harry's flat that evening, he sneezed. Then he sneezed a second time, halfway through his usual greeting. Then he narrowed his eyes in Harry's direction.

Harry was the absolute picture of innocence and utter regret. "Sorry, Tom. I know there's cat hair everywhere. I didn't get to vacuuming after Crookshanks left."

Tom attempted a disdainful sniff only to be choked by another sneeze. "It's— _ ACHOO! _ —fine. It's fine. We'll just—" Tom paused, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and breathing deeply through his mouth. A second passed, and then he released his nose and flashed Harry a winsome smile. "We'll just have to move to the bedroom, then, won't we?"

"Ah," Harry said, "about that—"

Tom strode forward and placed the tip of his finger on Harry's lower lip. "Harry. As endearing as your modesty is, I can assure you that your state of exhaustion does not trouble me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of your pleasure."

Harry spluttered. His brain was short-circuiting. What? Just—WHAT? Exhaustion?? Not to mention Tom just... just  _ saying _ that like it was some kind of immutable fact.

"Harry?"

Oh. Right. Harry couldn't just make weird facial expressions while Tom was looking at him because now he was expected to explain himself.

Wait. Explain himself? The fuck? Tom was the one being all arrogant. Harry didn't owe him an explanation.

Then a distant piece of information clicked into place. Tom thought Harry was too tired to vacuum the flat of cat hair, and he  _ also _ thought that translated to Harry being too tired for sex.

Which, admittedly, was an excuse Harry had used multiple times in place of simply not being in the mood for it. Tom seemed to have an easier time understanding physical limitations than emotional or mental ones. It was a concerning deficiency, to say the least, but Tom always respected a 'no' answer even if he didn't understand it, which was the most important part.

Harry shook himself of his thoughts. He was getting distracted from his goal, which was to lure Tom in with the promise of sex, then trap him in a bedroom full of cat hair.

When he put it like that, though, there was a strange voice in the back of his head that sounded almost exactly like Hermione telling him he was an idiot.

"Sure," Harry said, which was pretty much his default answer when he didn't want to deal with what Tom was saying but also wasn't bothered enough to actually try and correct him.

Tom had his moments of being a gormless git who thought 'charm' was synonymous with 'being a good lay'. Which Harry could forgive because Tom had other traits that were not nearly as terrible. Some of Tom's traits were almost kind of sweet.

Upon receiving consent, Tom's face broke out into a wide smile. Aww. Harry's heart could melt at seeing that smile. Much better than the smile Tom often used when trying stupid lines to get Harry into bed. If only Tom could figure out that he didn't need all that bravado, then maybe they would get somewhere. Like on an actual date not in Harry's flat.

Harry took Tom's hand and laced their fingers together, knowing that Tom liked it when he did that, then let Tom lead them into the bedroom. The abrupt transition from greeting to bedroom wasn't that strange, all told. The hour was fairly late, which had been intentional because Harry hadn't wanted to impose an entire flat full of cat hair on Tom for longer than strictly necessary.

They passed through the doorway—

—Tom sneezed so violently that Harry's arm shook with the force of it.

"Tom?" asked Harry.

Tom straightened up. Stared at the bed. Dropped Harry's hand and strode right up to the bed covers, sneezing twice more before he levelled an accusatory gaze towards Harry and said in a stilted tone, "This was intentional."

Oh. Tom sounded a tiny bit... hurt. That was not good. Harry hadn't meant to hurt Tom's feelings.

"Sorry," Harry backtracked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to, um—" Ah, shit, why were words not happening? Harry needed words to happen right damn now.

"If you wanted to end our—" Tom made a mild strangled noise that Harry could only assume was a withheld sneeze. The rest of Tom's sentence still managed to come out sounding cold, though. "Our  _ arrangement, _ you could have said so."

No! That was  _ not _ what Harry wanted out of this. That was not his intention in the slightest. "That's not it!" Harry said, panicking. "That's not it! I don't want to end it—I want—ah—"

"You decided that murdering me with an axe was too kind a fate for me to suffer?" Tom asked sardonically, brows raised.

Harry stared. Was that meant to be a joke?

"It's just—" Harry gestured desperately at the bed. "Cat hair! It's  _ just cat hair. _ You talk about vanishing things with magic  _ all the time, _ Tom," Harry said, finally letting his shoulders slump with defeat. "And I just—I just wanted to know why you never do it here. Why you don't do magic here."

Tom froze. Actually froze in place, like he was a robot that had just gotten hit with a blue screen of death, only the blue screen of death was Harry's blue-striped bed sheets covered in cat hair.

Harry was starting to feel guilty. "Er. I know I kind of fucked up here, so you don't have to answer that. The magic thing. And I get it if you're mad at me. I wasn't, um, trying to imply that I don't like having you here. Because I do! I do like having you here. And not just, you know,  _ here." _ Harry waved a hand at the bedroom. "Though we don't actually limit our activities to just here. You know what I mean. Um. I am going to shut up now so you can yell if you like."

Tom didn't yell. Instead his face took on a sort of flabbergasted expression: slightly-parted lips and distant expression.

Now, Harry hadn't thought what he'd said was that much of a shocker. Unless Tom was  _ used _ to people just kicking him out? Which was... so sad that Harry really hoped it wasn't true because that was too awful to think about.

"You  _ want _ me to do magic?" Tom asked. Then his expression sobered, some of the emotion wiping clear off of his face as he continued in a level tone, "I was under the impression you didn't want any of it in your home."

"I—when did I ever say that?" Harry asked, confused. When had he ever given that impression? He'd listened to Tom talk about Hogwarts, about Diagon Alley. He'd responded with questions, even. What part of that was supposed to be—

_ "Do you mind if I conjure some ice? Or will that result in you yelling at me again?" _

Harry blinked as Tom's voice played back in his head. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd responded to Tom after that, but he knew it hadn't been very favourable or magic-friendly. Though  _ to be fair, _ it had only been because Tom had popped into his flat without warning like a lunatic.

"You made your opinion on the subject very clear," Tom said snidely. But there was a crease between his brows that implied doubt. Harry latched onto that, knowing here was his opportunity to not only fix things, but to solve the mystery of Tom's magic once and for all.

"I—" Harry swallowed down the tangled lump of emotions in his throat. The guilt, the anxiety, the  _ fear _ that he was going to fuck this up irreparably. He owed Tom a proper explanation and a proper apology; he had to wrangle his courage and spit those two things out. "I never meant to make you feel like your magic wasn't welcome here, Tom. It's—you said it's a part of you. Your magic." Harry exhaled, firming his voice as he added, "So it's just as welcome here as you are."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said. I mean. Actually I don't really remember what I said, but I know it must have been pretty bad." Harry shook his head. "So I'm sorry for that. Because I didn't mean for it to be all ultimatum-y. I was just, you know!" Harry gestured wildly around his head. "Freaking out. About the magic stuff. It scared me."

Tom stiffened a second time, taking half a step back, so Harry hastened to add, "But you— _ you _ don't scare me, Tom. I don't—I'm not scared of you. Or your magic. I like hearing about your time at Hogwarts. I think the stuff you talk about doing is really cool, and I'd love to see it."

A long stretch of silence laid itself out between them, stretching out like Crookshanks often did on Harry's rug. In the seconds that passed, Harry and Tom did nothing but stare at each other. 

Tom's eyes had widened in mystification, but he did not step any further away. So Harry dug his metaphorical heels in deep, shoving down every piece of himself that was absolutely batshit terrified of being vulnerable, and decided to open up.

"You left me that red flower," Harry said, stepping closer. "The amaryllis. You made it with magic, didn't you? I kept thinking that you must have, that there was no way you could have found a flower shop open that early in the morning."

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze alternating between Harry and the spot just behind Harry's shoulder, but said nothing. Harry took another step closer.

"I really liked it. That you did that for me. The note, too.  _ And _ I have your flower sitting in a goddamn water glass in my kitchen. I know you've seen it." Tom glanced back up, the corner of his mouth quirking, and this time their shared gaze held. Harry smiled. "I wouldn't have done that if I didn't like magic, Tom. If I didn't like  _ you." _

Harry closed the remaining distance, raising his arm slowly enough that Tom had ample time to pull away, and pressed his palm to Tom's cheek, brushing his fingers along the hairline. It could not be a figment of his imagination that Tom was leaning into the touch.

"So, um, we're hopefully clear on that now," Harry said awkwardly.

Tom looked like he was on the verge of saying something in response, but then his nostrils flared and his mouth snapped shut. Then Harry had a split second in which he wanted to be magically transformed into a pile of ash as he watched Tom step  _ away _ from him.

Then Tom drew a long stick of wood from somewhere in his robes—his wand. Harry had rarely seen it, and he had certainly never seen it up close before. At this distance, Harry could discern the craftsmanship of it. The snug curves of the handle, the hints of wood grain that ran along the length.

Tom held the wand up, his hand poised in a practiced motion. Ridiculously, Harry wondered if he was about to be axe-murdered by a wand, but then Tom aimed the wand tip towards the bed and said,  _ "Evanesco." _

The cat hair vanished.

All of it disappeared right off of the covers and the pillows like it had never been there to begin with. 

Harry let out a breath of relief, then smacked at Tom's forearm. "Did you really have to do that before you said anything? I seriously thought you were about to be mad at me."

Tom scoffed as he slid his wand back to wherever it had emerged from. "I don't think I could ever be truly mad at you, Harry." Then Tom drew near, lighting quick, sliding an arm around Harry's waist and tugging him in so that they were pressed against each other. His lips slid into a smirk as he tilted his chin down to better meet Harry's eyes. "Especially now that I know you like me so much."

Harry thumped Tom's shoulder. "Prat."

Tom's smirk changed into a softer smile, his eyes crinkling up on the edges. Then his hand settled on Harry's waist, a familiar weight that curled up under Harry's ribcage like it belonged there, and Harry's face went warm.

"I like you, too," Tom murmured, leaning forward to bump his forehead against Harry's. "Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "Definitely."

Tom swept closer, millimeter by millimeter, dark eyes dragging over Harry's eyes and lips like he was deciding how they would best fit next to each other. Harry had never felt quite so shaken by Tom's scrutiny than he did in this moment. His vision was rapidly narrowing to the singular focus of Tom's face, and the erratic, racing pulse of his heart was only further evidence of their inevitable collision.

Was the world swaying beneath his feet? Or was it simply the way Tom's hand slid to caress the nape of his neck, tilting everything off its axis? Harry couldn't decide, couldn't think around the sudden flood of sensations wreaking havoc in his nervous system.

Only then it didn't matter much at all as Tom cradled a gentle hand against his cheek, sending a new surge of warmth rushing to his face. Tom's thumb swept just underneath Harry's lower lip, the softest of touches, a touch that felt sweeter than any kiss Harry could remember them sharing.

Suddenly, even the most infinitesimal distance between them was unbearable. There was no reason for them not to be touching. All of the pretenses had already fallen away. It was just the two of them. Magic and non magic.  _ Human. _

Harry stretched upwards, wound his fingers through Tom's hair, and  _ pulled _ until Tom obliged, guiding their lips into a heartstopping kiss.

There was the taste of burning combined with a hint of alcohol. His own steady breaths roared in his ears as Tom’s arm held him closer, not quite clutching. The embrace was delicate, almost tender. Harry felt cared for in a way he now wholly associated with Tom’s presence.

In addition to that, Harry felt… he felt a  _ need _ to care, too. There was a need in him to care about Tom, a desire that had sprouted in his chest and gone on to infect every atom in his body.

Maybe Tom had issues with using magic in the flat. Maybe he had issues with social boundaries such as not breaking and entering. Maybe had issues with being a little (a lot) full of himself. But those were issues that were workable issues. They had not been enough to turn Harry away, and they never had been.

When Tom withdrew, Harry allowed a heavy exhale to pass between them. Tom's eyes were dark, not only because of the late hour, not only because of the kiss they had shared. Those irises were deep enough to fall into, Harry mused.

Harry was reminded of their first reckless night together. The faint buzz of alcohol in his veins, the thrill of catching Tom's eyes across the bar. His impulsive decision to fall into bed with a stranger. Quite a bit of falling had already happened between them. Why not a little more?

"Stay the night?" Harry asked softly, running the tips of his fingers across Tom's brow, brushing back the soft tangle of dark curls.

Harry had been originally drawn to Tom because he was handsome. Because the curl of his hair caressed sharp brows to match sharp cheekbones. Because the smirk of his lips spoke of sweet promises and  _ danger. _

But now those edges had softened. Those harsh angles smoothed by vulnerability, a genuine desire for human connection, and—dare Harry think it—affection.

The way Tom was looking at him now... Harry didn't want it to end. He wanted Tom to stay.

"Tonight?" Tom breathed, eyes wide, open, glittering like stars. Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the hopeful tone. Then Tom blinked, and his hand slid to grasp Harry's, his thumb rubbing over the knuckles. "You have work tomorrow," he added, this time with less enthusiasm.

Harry didn't care. "Tonight, tomorrow night, any night. Any night."

Tom was smiling. "Well," Tom said, in that familiar, officious way of speaking that usually had a fifty-fifty chance of being irritating, "if you insist. I'll have to check my schedule for tomorrow, though—"

"Oh my god," Harry said. "Shut  _ up." _ And then he decided to take direct action in solving the problem by dragging Tom into another kiss.

There was a muffled noise of objection, but Harry kissed that away, too, and then Tom didn't seem to mind so much anymore.

The newly-cleaned bed was put to good use. Tom spent the night. And the night after that. And the night after that. And when they woke in bed together later that week, early Saturday morning sunbeams tickling their blanket-swaddled forms, Harry rose and made them both his signature scrambled eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is definitely gonna be five chapters total. if i go over that i'm a liar.


	4. Progressions of Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Harry have feelings. Sometimes, those feelings even feature in discussions.

"We're dating now. I think." Harry swirled his spoon in his cup of coffee, tapped it once on the rim, then set it down on the saucer.

"I would _hope so,"_ Hermione retorted. "Considering you nearly murdered him with my cat. That he continues to set foot in your flat is a miracle on its own, Harry. Please tell me you take him outside now."

"Okay, okay, it was a bad plan," Harry grumbled. "You don't need to keep reminding me. It worked out in the end, didn't it? And what'd'you mean by 'outside'? He's not a cat, Hermione. Or a dog. I don't need to take him on walks."

Ron snorted, then valiantly attempted to cover the sound with a cough into his napkin. "This Tom bloke wouldn't last five minutes in a room with Crookshanks, even if he didn't have a cat allergy."

"Not the point," Hermione said, glaring. "And Crookshanks is a perfectly good boy so long as he's treated well."

"You mean spoiled."

"Hey," Harry said, heading off the inevitable argument. "He's more comfortable in my flat now, alright? The cat hair thing was just a thing. We talked it out."

"Did you?" Hermione squinted. "So why was he so strange about cleaning it up, then? You said he spends a lot of time in your flat, and you never go over to his. I think it'd only be fair for him to help you clean up from time to time."

"Er—" Harry wasn't sure how to explain that it was because his wizard boyfriend had an aversion to magic in the flat as a result of multiple acts of anti-magic violence on his part. "It was a misunderstanding. He thought I didn't want him... intruding. So he was hesitant to clean."

"And now?"

And now... now it was fine, wasn't it? Crookshanks wasn't over often enough for cat hair to be a major problem in their lives. Plus, Tom _was_ more comfortable in the flat nowadays. That was the truth.

Sometimes Tom would do little acts of magic like conjure an empty glass and fill it with water. It wasn't world-changing stuff, but Harry was happy enough that Tom was no longer averse to doing magic while in the flat.

"Now things are great," Harry said confidently.

"I dunno, I still think it's weird he's never had you over." Ron frowned, stretching his arms out in front of him and cracking his knuckles. "What kind of reason does he have for never inviting you back to his? And never going on proper dates?"

Harry wasn't sure. But after thinking about it, he thought maybe it was because Tom was worried that immersion into the magical world would send Harry running in the opposite direction.

Hermione leant in, bracing her elbows on the table, her expression serious. "I think it's wonderful that you and Tom are getting along so well now, Harry, but you have to be realistic, too. You need to think about where this relationship is going. Ron and I don't want to see you disappointed if Tom isn't in this for the long haul. Not telling you where he works or where he lives are fairly large red flags."

"You said he dresses well?" Ron added, folding his arms over his chest. "I mean.. you know... we don't know him like you do, obviously, but d'you ever wonder what else he's doing when you're not with him?"

"What's that even mean?" Harry asked defensively. "Yeah, he dresses well, but he's just like that. He told me he has a job selling expensive artifacts and things. Like a curator or whatever it's called. I don't see why where he works matters, either."

"What Ron is _trying_ to say," Hermione said gently, "is that we're concerned Tom might have a life outside of the one he has with you, and that's why he's so secretive about his personal details."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You think he's _married._ That's what you're not saying. You think he's rich and married and he's seeing me on the side? Oh my god."

"We're not jumping to any conclusions—"

"No, I know, I know what you mean." Harry shook his head and raised a hand to stall their protests. His head was spinning slightly as he stood and pulled his jacket on. "And I know you mean well, so I'm just. I'm just going to go. I'll pay for coffee next time, yeah? But I just—I can't deal with this right now. Tom's not like that, okay? He's not."

Ron and Hermione called after him, but Harry ignored them. He just wanted to go home and think by himself.

* * *

Harry’s inexplicable upset at his friends' comments did not diminish as the day wore on, but by the time Tom's usual hour of arrival rolled around, Harry felt he had a better idea of why he was upset.

Things were great. Harry had accepted Tom into his life, magic and all. The problem was, Tom had yet to do the same. So Ron and Hermione were not totally incorrect; Tom _did_ have another life, one that Harry was not a part of, and this fact hurt more than Harry initially thought it had.

When the faint, familiar 'pop' of Tom's Apparition echoed in Harry's flat, Harry did his best to be his regular enthused self, but his efforts were for naught.

"Is something the matter, Harry? You're quieter than usual tonight."

"It's nothing," Harry said, too quickly. He withheld a wince as Tom's brows rose in obvious disbelief.

"Is that coworker of yours still bothering you? I told you, Harry, I could go in and fix that quite easily—"

"Nothing like that," Harry said, hasty now. "Nothing work related."

Tom paused, his arms relaxing from their tense, almost aggressive position across his chest. "Then what is it?"

"It's—" Harry blew out a gust of air. "It's not a big deal, okay? I don't want you to feel pressured or obligated to do anything."

At this, Tom's face morphed into a mask of neutrality. He had likely not expected to be the source of Harry's discontent. "Don't tell me this is about _magic_ again—"

This was the kind of argument Harry had been hoping to avoid. "It's not that! I mean, it's not about you doing magic in the flat or anything like that. It's just... you know _a lot_ about me, Tom. You know almost _everything_ there is to know about me. And I—I don't even know where you live or where you work or, or like, your favourite fucking colour!" Harry's hands flew up of their own accord, punctuating his pitched statement. "I don't even know that."

"There are whole other chunks of your life that I'm not a part of and it upsets me, alright? But I—" Harry inhaled, exhaled, forced himself to calm down. "But I understand that it's not easy for you to share all that. That it's not even allowed, really. But that doesn't change the fact that I wish you could be open with me about these things."

Then Harry breathed out a few more times, watching for Tom's reaction.

Tom cleared his throat, and his face was solemn as he said, "My favourite colour is green. At least, that's what I've been told, given I've never expressed a preference before. Apparently it is the only colour I wear with any regularity."

That startled a laugh out of Harry. "Green?" Then he thought about it and added, "You do wear green."

Then Tom laughed, too, a low chuckle that loosened the knot in Harry's chest by several degrees as they laughed together.

"God," Harry said, shaking his head, coughing slightly as he caught his breath. "Forget about it. That was ridiculous. I said this wasn't a big deal and I meant it. I'll get over it eventually."

"I am sorry that this situation has upset you," Tom said. "If I could—" The sentence faded away, trailing into nothing. Tom swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion. "I don't wish for you to be upset, Harry."

"I really appreciate the things you have told me about your world," Harry added. "I won't—I don't need to ask for more than that. I promise. I get that there are laws and things you need to be following. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble because I can't get over my own stupid feelings."

"They're not stupid," Tom said firmly, moving closer. He took Harry's elbow into his hand, squeezing lightly. "I don’t fault you for being upset."

Harry repressed a shudder at the casual gesture of affection. "Let's just shelve this for tonight, okay? I don't want to talk about it anymore. Let's not... I don't want to ruin our evening together."

"Very well." Tom hesitated. "If that's what you want." Then he leant in and pressed a kiss to Harry's temple.

Harry allowed himself to relax. "Yes. Great. I have leftovers to heat up from yesterday, or we can order in pizza."

"Whatever you like, Harry." Tom slid an arm around Harry's waist, reeling him in, and hooked his chin over the top of Harry's head. "I'm fine with either."

"Hard for me to do either of those things when you're wrapped around me like an octopus," Harry remarked, teasing, but he made no move to pull out of Tom's embrace.

"Hmmm. Excellent point." Tom nuzzled against the side of Harry's head. "Perhaps a sign that this task ought to be put off until later."

"Incorrigible," Harry said as he felt Tom's fingers pluck playfully at his shirt buttons. "I don't know how you didn't starve to death before you met me."

Tom's rich laughter filled his ear. "I have learned a great deal since I met you, darling. You should be proud of how far I've come under your tutelage."

Harry snorted, craning his neck so he could gaze up at Tom's face. Tom was humouring him, clearly, but in the affectionate way that warmed Harry right up. "Yes, I've taught you _so_ much. Like how breaking into people's homes without asking is _bad."_

"I asked."

"You did _not_ ask."

Tom pouted. Harry squirmed around, dislodging Tom's hand from where it had been hard at work on shirt buttons, and held Tom's face in both hands to make sure Tom was paying attention to what he was about to say.

"You have come a long way," Harry allowed. "And I am very proud of you." He gave Tom a quick, modest kiss, then watched as Tom spluttered in response.

"That was a _joke,"_ Tom grumbled.

Harry grinned, delighted. "I know."

* * *

Following Harry's confession, a new dam had been broken. Tom graduated from small acts of magic to much grander acts of magic. Water for tea boiled instantly. Harry's shelves dusted themselves. The one time Harry fumbled his glass bottle of olive oil, Tom caught it wandlessly before it hit the floor.

The convenience of magic was a marvel and a wonder; Harry did not think he would ever get tired of it. Not when, on the mornings when their schedules differed, Tom conjured vibrant flowers for Harry to wake up to.

This shift in their relationship also marked the slow migration of Tom's things into Harry's flat. A scarf here, a cloak there. An extra toothbrush in the bathroom. It was comfortable. It was perfect.

Harry knew there were still more things to know about Tom, things that were likely hard to put into words, but he had faith that someday those words would emerge.

Hermione and Ron had desisted in their harsher judgements of his and Tom's relationship, but they frequently asked when they would be allowed to meet Tom. Harry had yet to give them an answer. Tom had mentioned a few times that he would not mind being introduced, but there was something preventing Harry from pulling the trigger on it.

Harry supposed that it was because _he_ was now a part of Tom's life, the life that included magic, and that meant their relationship now fell under the umbrella of that separate world. There was an invisible line that kept the two worlds apart, and that was why Harry was hesitating.

On top of that, Harry could not quite imagine Tom, Hermione, and Ron together in the same room. Tom, with his wizard's robes and his lack of (Muggle) social graces, did not compute in any scenario Harry attempted to picture.

It also did not feel fair for Harry to ask Tom to meet his friends when such an act could not be reciprocated. Harry had yet to meet any of Tom's friends, and he likely never would. Tom was in blatant violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. Anyone Tom told about their relationship would become complicit.

Of course, Tom had been quick to offer a solution to this.

"If we were married, then it would be legal."

Harry couldn’t tell if Tom was kidding. Aside from that, he wasn’t ready to unpack that statement anyways. He'd mumbled a flustered, incomprehensible response and was mollified when Tom hadn't pushed it any further.

Still, the idea of it stuck around in Harry's head. If he and Tom did get married someday, Harry could fully meet the magical world. He could walk with Tom down Diagon Alley. He could visit Hogsmeade and catch a glimpse of Hogwarts. He could see all of the magic that could not fit into his tiny flat.

To Harry’s surprise, it seemed the idea had also stuck around in Tom's head.

There wasn't any concrete evidence of this, but sometimes Tom had this unguarded look about him when he thought Harry wasn't paying attention. It was a rare sight, but Harry had witnessed it enough to feel secure in its existence.

Things came to a head the night Tom made an unexpected request.

Right from the start, Harry was aware that something was off. Tom doted on him from the moment he appeared in the flat. The extra affection was not unwanted, but it made the absence of Tom's usual, irascible self very noticeable.

Harry let it pass, waited to see if Tom was about to speak his mind, but dinner passed to no avail, and eventually it became clear to Harry that whatever it was, Tom was waiting for an ideal moment that had yet to arrive, and perhaps never would.

After dinner, Harry carried the dishes to the kitchen and dumped them in the sink, as was his new habit to do. The dishwasher had been unused for some time now that Tom had taken over the task with magic.

"So," Harry said as Tom magicked the plates clean with a wave of his wand, "how are things?"

The dish in the sink exploded into a surge of soap bubbles. Tom turned to stare at him. "How are things?" Tom repeated, incredulous.

Alright, bad question. Terrible, rubbish idea of a question. "You seem like you have a lot on your mind," Harry offered. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Tom glanced back at the plate in the sink. He vanished the bubbles, revealing a clean white plate, which he then placed upon the rack. "My mother wants to meet you."

Tom's _mother?_ Harry barely had time to process this before Tom continued, casual, like they were discussing the weather, "But you don’t need to worry about that. I've already told her it's not necessary."

"Not... necessary..." Harry repeated. "And why's that?"

"Because it isn't," Tom said sharply. "She made me promise to ask, and I now have, but I am telling you it is not necessary for you to meet her." Then Tom sighed, setting a second, newly-cleaned plate aside, and spun round to face Harry. "Trust me. It's for the best."

"Is this about the laws again?" Harry asked. "Are you worried something will happen?" Tom wouldn't want his mother to get into any trouble. But Tom had an odd look in his eyes; he was not waiting for Harry to agree, but rather... he was _hoping_ for it.

Tom's jaw clenched once, then loosened enough for him to speak. "Not quite that."

"Then... what is it? If I can ask."

Tom moved away from the sink. Harry followed, and they walked back out into the living room. But Tom did not sit down; he paced the length of the room, frustration settling along the line of his brow like a stiff weight.

"Tom?" asked Harry, careful to keep his voice soft, unwilling to spook or intrude.

"I don't have relationships," Tom said bluntly. His eyes were cold as he halted in place to pin Harry with a piercing stare. "I sleep with Muggles because there is no gossip, no publicity, no reason for any of it to be traced back to me. If something goes wrong, I simply Obliviate them."

The callousness was startling. Harry's mind did a pinwheel, trying to connect this confession with the issue at hand. It didn't make sense. Tom's _actions_ didn't make sense.

"But then why do you Apparate the way you do?" Harry asked. "Doesn't that just _lead_ to things going horrifically wrong?"

"I like to see how they handle it."

"How they—" Harry broke off before his voice could rise any higher. Tom's face was closed off, devoid of emotion. Whatever Tom was feeling, he wasn't willing to share it. It wouldn't help any if Harry let his own emotions get the better of him.

Tom rolled his shoulder in a careless shrug. "If they couldn't, then... Well, then they weren't what I was looking for."

Looking for in a _one-night stand?_ Harry dearly wanted to protest the obvious lack of logic—after all, _Harry_ had reacted poorly to the magic, and yet here they were.

Well, no, that wasn't quite true. Harry wasn't a one-night stand. They were in a relationship. A relationship, which was something Tom claimed not to do. Which meant that there was more to this than magic being some kind of wack-ass stress test.

"Some of them liked the magic," Tom added. "They were quite impressed."

"And you just let them go, after?" Harry asked blankly. "After seeing you do magic?"

"No." Tom frowned. "I had to Obliviate them eventually."

But then _why?_ Why any of that? Why any of this? Harry was awfully confused. "But you never Obliviated me," Harry pointed out. "Was that just because we made plans to see each other again?"

"You—" Tom hesitated. "You're different."

There it was. One of those unguarded moments where Tom's masks melted away, revealing a conglomeration of emotions that were almost foreign on Tom's pale, angular features. 

Harry stared, chest constricting, heart pounding, thinking, _wondering—_

And then it made sense. It all made wonderful, beautiful sense.

Tom wasn't looking for someone who could accept magic to just be his one-night stand. He was looking for someone who could accept magic to be his _partner._

"I like you as you are," Harry said. "Magic and everything. Was I not clear enough with that?"

Tom's eyes widened fractionally, but the expression dropped away not a second after. "It's not about that. I know that you don't mind magic."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, desperate. "Tom, I just want to understand. I want to help you with whatever this is."

Tom inhaled steadily, tilting his head back to regard the ceiling for a moment. Then he said, "My father was a Muggle. When my mother told him about magic, about _me,_ he was terrified. He hated magic, he hated her, he hated me before I had even been born."

"Oh, Tom," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was an awful excuse for a human being. He abandoned my mother and I to poverty without a second thought." The way Tom spoke, monotone and distant, was like a dagger to Harry's heart. "She was forced to Obliviate him, you know. He was threatening to go to the papers. But he had forced her hand. She had no choice. If she did not wipe his memories, she would risk losing the only person she had left: her son."

"It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do," Tom said roughly. "But she did it for me." His eyes cleared, lucidity returning to them as he levelled Harry with a calm gaze. "I did not learn this story until much later, you understand. And by then she was very firm on what she thought of Muggles."

"I grew up with this. I was told again and again where this path would lead, and I—" Tom broke off into a short, barking laugh. Then he shook his head to clear the brief interlude of hilarity that had seized him, and his lips curled into a soft, half-bitter smile. "I did it anyway. I did, and I emerged with the most wonderful result. I emerged with _you,_ Harry."

Then Tom pulled Harry towards him, the motion equal parts urgent and affectionate, and dragged his fingertips gently along the line of Harry’s brow, brushing a few stray hairs aside. 

"I have you," Tom finished, levelling Harry with a look that seared to the soul, "and she would never forgive me for it if she found out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok maybe we'll have 6 chapters. who knows. i'm a liar.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Come join 'The Room of Requirement', a community Discord server for fans of the Harry/Tom | Voldemort ship (and characters). The server is 16+ and can be found[HERE](https://discord.gg/2suak9y)!**


	5. All in Due Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione play 'good cop, bad cop' right under Harry's unsuspecting nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXTRA LONG CHAPTER. YOU ARE WELCOME.

They left the subject of Tom's parents alone for the rest of the evening. Tom had already shared so much about such a difficult part of his life; Harry didn’t want Tom to feel pressured into sharing more details.

Harry tugged Tom towards his couch and piled them onto it. Tom liked to feel like he was in charge of things, which meant Harry usually ended up as the little spoon, or as the one curled up on Tom's lap.

This wasn't an issue for Harry, who felt that so long as their boundaries were clear and respected, it didn't much matter to him who was on top of who. And sometimes Tom did seem to enjoy being pushed around, if only because it was Harry who was doing the pushing.

But tonight there had been a little pushing in the emotional sense, and so it was not unexpected when Tom pulled on Harry's hands, his intention of cuddling on the couch made clear by the puppy-ish look in his eyes.

Tom wasn't below pouting to get what he wanted; Harry was far from oblivious to this fact. But it worked out, then, that Tom could bat his lashes and cock his head to the side, and Harry could read the action for what it really was, which was a desire for intimacy in the romantic, non-sexual way.

Harry settled onto the couch, draping his legs over Tom's thighs and resting his head against Tom's shoulder. Tom's arm came to hold him firmly around the waist, face turning to the side just enough to brush a kiss against the top of Harry's head.

Harry felt warm. He felt safe. And he hoped Tom felt the same way, too, because Tom deserved to feel warm and safe and loved. Especially after what they had just talked about. Harry reached for Tom's free hand, wrapping his fingers around the palm, rubbing his thumb gently over the knuckles.

The lights of the living room were off, meaning Tom's face was lit by the distant glow of the kitchen. It was likely they would both doze like this for a while, lost to a mix of their post-dinner food coma and emotional exhaustion.

Only, Harry's mind was still occupied with all that Tom had said. It was hard to _not_ think about it, honestly. Harry couldn't pretend to empathize with not having parents, so all he could offer was a sympathetic ear. That, and as much support Tom needed.

So it did come as a surprise when Tom asked, after some minutes of silence, "Have your friends still been asking after me, Harry?"

"Um, yeah," Harry said, shifting slightly so he could get a better look at Tom's expression. "They'd love to meet you, honestly. And probably my parents, too, once they're back from their latest trip. Only if you want to, though. And if you think it won't cause you any trouble."

"It's no trouble, love," Tom said distantly. "We've been putting it off, haven't we?"

Harry couldn't help but feel he was missing something. Tom had never insisted on meeting Harry's friends before. In fact, this was the closest they'd ever gotten to planning it out.

"Sure," Harry said. He hoped that his hesitation wasn't noticeable. It wasn't that he didn't want Tom to meet his friends. He was just concerned about whatever state of mind was causing Tom to make these sudden decisions. "Did you want to pick a few days? Then I can see when they're free."

"This weekend would be perfect."

A weekend meeting would likely work out. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about it. The idea of these two important parts of his life coming together worried him a little. What if they didn't like each other? 

“You’re thinking too much,” Tom said fondly.

Harry pushed out a long breath. He had to trust that it would go well, that it would work out. 

"You're all going to get along," Harry said aloud, willing himself to believe it.

Tom huffed a warm pass of air over the top of Harry's head. "Of course we will, Harry. In fact, I'm offended you doubt my ability to charm them."

The lighthearted response served to ease Harry's nerves further. "Pardon me, but I seem to recall you have a penchant for poor second impressions. I'd hate to have to rescue you from Hermione when you inevitably stick your entire foot in your mouth."

Tom hummed, curling his fingers against the fabric of Harry's shirt. "The idea of having you defend me does have its appeal, Harry. You are rather attractive when you get yourself all worked up—"

"Nevermind. I'll leave you to her tender mercies." Harry yawned slowly, laying his head back down onto Tom's shoulder. "I'll make sure I look very sexy at your equally-inevitable funeral."

* * *

Despite all of his anxieties, Harry was looking forward to introducing Tom to his friends. For one, it would at last put to rest all of Ron and Hermione's concerns about Tom being an adulterer.

Actually, now that Harry gave it some thought, there was a good chance that some _other_ concerns were going to replace the 'married man' concern. Just exactly what those concerns were going to be, Harry wasn't sure. Axe murderer, maybe?

Either way, Harry was valiantly managing to not vibrate in place as he waited for Tom to arrive at the designated street corner. He had told Tom this exact corner so that they could meet in advance and walk to the restaurant together.

Somehow, it _still_ came as a surprise when Tom appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Christ!" Harry jumped, nearly mashing his elbow into Tom's arm. "You scared me, Tom."

"My apologies." Tom removed his hand. “How do I look? Passable? The corner of his mouth curled, as though he already knew the answer.

Harry paused to take in Tom's outfit. It was perfectly... normal. Which was to say, it was 'Muggle'. Shirt and trousers. It should not have been so surprising; after all, Tom wore such articles of clothing all the time. But now that they were outside of the bubble of Harry's little flat, Harry was seeing Tom in a new light, as corny as that sounded.

"You look really nice," Harry said, which was the truth. He coughed once to fix the funny edge to his voice, then added, "Shall we?"

Tom’s half-smirk slid into a full-blown smile as he offered his arm. The gesture was unfairly adorable. Harry took it, then promptly had to steer Tom in the right direction as Tom tried to veer left instead of right. Something about living as a wizard must addle your brain, Harry thought glumly. No street smarts.

Ron and Hermione were, of course, already waiting inside the restaurant for them. Hermione had never been late for anything a day in her life if she could help it. Ron, conversely, had been late for many, many things.

These two facts combined to make a very, very early Ron and Hermione. Never let it be said that Hermione did not know how to plan preventatively. Harry was sure they must have already been seated for at least fifteen minutes.

"Oh, hello!" Hermione got up, beaming from ear to ear as she came over to greet them.

"Hermione," greeted Harry. He embraced her, then pulled back to nod at Ron, who waved. "Ron." Harry was well aware of Tom's presence just behind his left shoulder as he said, "This is Tom, my boyfriend. Tom, this is Ron and Hermione."

The word 'boyfriend' slipped out with surprising ease considering how anxious Harry had felt about this moment. Harry felt Tom's hand brush against his forearm, and then Tom was moving forward, arm extended, past where Harry was standing.

"Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet you, Hermione."

Hermione shook his hand three times, then took a step back. "It's very nice to meet you, Tom. Ron and I are very happy that Harry's met someone he likes so much."

Oh my god. Hermione was starting to sound like his mum. Harry looked over at Ron, who had his arms folded over his chest and was wearing a neutral expression on his face. It was, all told, an expression that Harry associated with the infamous 'shovel talk'.

Tom turned his friendly smile to Ron. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well."

"Nice to meet you," Ron said. "Why don't you and Harry have a seat?"

Harry faltered a bit at the odd tone. It wasn't distant, but it wasn't the friendly tone he usually associated with Ron, either. Looking back at Hermione revealed that she was smiling just as wide as before. Was this a ‘good cop’ and ‘bad cop’ scenario?

Behind him, Tom had moved to pull out a chair for Harry to sit. "Harry?"

"Sorry." Harry sat down. Now _Tom_ was looking at him funny. This was not his fault! Ron and Hermione were being weird!

"Why don't we order you two some drinks?" Hermione said lightly.

Tom flagged down a waitress, then turned to face Harry. "Water or juice?"

Harry twitched. He was still reeling from the _everything_ about this entire situation. "Juice," he answered, distracted by the way Ron seemed intently focused on analysing every square inch of Tom's wardrobe like a reporter for New York Fashion Week.

Sensing that Ron was on the verge of giving Tom stink eye, Harry asked, "So, how was Crookshanks' visit to the vet?" He was hoping to start a friendly conversation that would not involve subtle questions about Tom’s marital status.

As expected, Hermione seized the dangling thread and ran with it, recounting Crookshanks' check up in great detail, starting with how he was a superior cat with superior reflexes, and that this was why the vet simply was not capable of handling him properly.

An additional benefit of this conversation topic was that it forced Ron to participate in a semi-positive manner, if only so he could poke fun at Crookshanks being evil.

Tom, for some unfathomable reason, was ridiculously well-versed on the subject of veterinary care for someone who was terribly allergic to cats. Perhaps caring for pets in the magical world was similar?

At any rate, Tom and Hermione went on to engage in several intellectual debates that Harry only managed to somewhat follow because he was trying, and then the topic wound up changing to the effect of cultural upbringings on career choices, something Harry did _not_ have the mental energy to try and follow. It was a Saturday, for crying out loud.

So Harry sipped at his orange juice, stole fries off of Tom's burger plate, and exchanged knowing looks with Ron. Neither Tom nor Hermione touched much of their food—it was only at Harry and Ron's insistent prodding that either of them even paused to drink some water or have a few bites.

By the end of it, Harry thought the first meeting had actually gone sort of well. As they stood to leave the restaurant, Ron held out his hand and thanked Tom for coming. Everything was good.

* * *

The next day, Harry met up with Ron and Hermione on his own to find out what they thought.

"He seems perfectly nice, Harry," Hermione allowed. “And attentive. I think I will have a better idea once we've met a few more times. I do want to ask him more about where he gets his strange opinions from—"

"Tom's a pale bloke," Ron interrupted. "And he's got no tan lines on his hands, so he can live for now."

Harry snorted. "Glowing review, guys, thanks. I'll be sure to pass along your appreciation of his weird opinions and tan-free hands."

"We only want what's best for you, Harry," said Hermione, but she was smiling all the same. "He does seem to dote on you, which is what I like to see."

"Yes," Ron said solemnly. "If he doesn't treat you like a king, then you drop him."

"God." Harry smacked Ron's shoulder, which prompted Ron to start cackling. "You're not my parents, you know? I think I know when I'm being treated well. But thank you for the concern, you weirdos."

Truthfully, Harry was relieved. His friends and his boyfriend got along well. That was the first step, right? It was a good sign.

As for the second step... well, Harry's parents would be back from their travels soon, and then Harry would consider subjecting Tom to the duo of Lily and James Potter.

"You know, I'd love to watch your mum lay into Tom," Ron said, propping his chin on his hand. "Could you imagine that? I'd take photos."

"Yeah," Harry said, cracking a smile. "That might be fun, you're right."

The subject of mothers reminded Harry of what Tom had said about his own mother—namely, that a meeting between her and Harry was not going to happen. Which Harry could understand, to a degree. It wasn't healthy behaviour, though. Maybe Tom was only waiting for his mother's mindset to improve? He would have to ask Tom that the next time they saw each other.

"It is wonderful that Tom finally felt comfortable with meeting us," Hermione said. "I am rather wary about the fact that it took so long, but I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Harry was hesitant to admit that Tom had been asking after a meeting for some time now; in truth, Harry was the real reason for a good deal of the delay. But if it would help Tom get into Hermione's good graces, then he would have to come clean.

"Actually," Harry said, "Tom's wanted to meet you for a while now. I was just a bit nervous about it. He's the one who finally shoved me into doing it."

"Well, I'm glad he did that, then," Hermione said. "God knows how long it would have taken us to meet if we left it up to you—"

"Oi," Harry protested. "I'm not that bad!"

"Sure, sure." Ron waved it off. "Didn't you say he wasn't big on the whole meeting each other's friends idea? Kind of funny he just changed his mind like that."

"That was before we were really, y'know, together." Though Ron had a point—Harry still didn't know exactly why Tom had suddenly put 'meet Ron and Hermione' at the top of his priority list, unless—

"It means Tom is taking their relationship seriously," Hermione said smugly. "He's met us. Once he’s gotten our approval, next is for him to meet Harry's parents."

Oh. Harry sat back in his chair, pulling back from the conversation so he could think properly. Tom was following the steps. Tom knew that Harry couldn't meet _his_ mother, so he was—he was trying to do the next best thing, which was to integrate himself into _Harry's_ life.

"Anyways, we'll make more plans soon." Hermione looked expectantly in Harry's direction, and Ron did the same. "I want to interrogate him about his education."

At least Hermione was upfront about her intentions. Harry nodded and made a mental note to tell Tom to brush up on non-magical universities. "Sure, I'll ask him about his schedule when I next see him."

"Still weird that he doesn't have a proper mobile phone," Ron said, pointing a finger. "I don't care if you say he's old-fashioned. It's weird."

Harry made a second mental note to tell Tom to buy a mobile phone. "I'll... let him know it's weird."

* * *

The next time Tom came to visit, it was pouring rain outside—the result of a flash storm. Tom landed on the doormat, hair dripping onto the floor before he vanished all the excess water, drying himself and his coat with a lazy wave of his wand.

"Hey," Harry said, glancing up from the couch. "You're a bit late today. What happened?"

"Nothing." Tom shed his coat and hung it up on the side. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

Tom ran a hand through his hair, jaw flexing. "I can heat up food on my own, you know. I don't need you to wait for me."

Bad day at work, then. Harry sighed, clamped down hard on his irritation at Tom's words. "Okay, Tom. But seeing as it's too late for me to fix that now, did you still want to eat?"

Tom gave the question some thought, then answered, "You can eat. I'm fine."

"Alright." Harry got up and went into the kitchen. If Tom sulked while Harry cooked, maybe his mood would improve somewhat by the time it was done. Then Harry could convince him to eat something.

Harry had prepared some chicken in advance, so dinner was simply a matter of adding some vegetables and sauce before tossing up stir fry. The end result was dumped over reheated rice from yesterday. Harry portioned it into a bowl and gave it a sniff. It smelled pretty damn good. Maybe he would attempt to force feed Tom a few bites.

Tom was lounging on the couch as Harry walked back into the living room. Harry sat down next to him and speared a piece of broccoli onto his fork. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tom watching him.

"So how was work?" Harry asked.

"Uneventful," Tom said in a monotone. "Customers are as despicable as ever."

"What about that one woman? The one you've been trying to convince to sell her antiques?" Tom talked about her often, if only to complain about how awful she was.

Tom's face darkened, which meant Harry had unwittingly hit the nail right on the nose. "Disgusting woman. I'll be at this for weeks, putting up with her less-than-subtle advances, and she'll still refuse to show me anything of value."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "That's really terrible. I wish you didn't have to put up with her. Can't you ask to be reassigned or something?" Harry didn't know how Tom's job worked, but this particular job sounded like borderline sexual harassment.

"I can handle her, Harry. You don't need to worry about my safety." Tom's lip curled as he stared at the window. The rain was coming down hard, splattering streaks against Harry's window pane. "This job is very important to me. But yes, the sooner I am finished with her, the better."

"I hope it's soon." Harry poked at his food as silence fell over them both. After hearing all this, his appetite had lessened, but he would finish eating his food to set a good example.

Eventually, Tom's mood did improve. He ate a few pieces of chicken and had a drink of water. Harry left all the dishes in the dishwasher and rejoined Tom on the couch for a cuddle. Tom was stiff at first, but he soon warmed enough to drape an arm over Harry's shoulders.

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the rain, to the steady thump-thump of Tom's heart. "Ron and Hermione really liked meeting you the other day. They'd like to do it again, sometime."

"I'll set aside a day for it," Tom said distantly.

"Hermione wants to know where you went to school so she can judge you."

"I'll tell her I went to Oxford. Or Cambridge. Whichever one you think will impress her more."

Harry cracked his eyes open a tad. "Ron thinks it's weird you don't have a mobile."

"Pick one out for me, then," Tom said. He was watching the window again. "I will pay you back whatever it costs."

Since it didn't seem like Tom wanted to talk, Harry went back to being quiet. He watched Tom carefully, looking for an opening, but there didn’t seem to be any.

Minutes passed; Harry began to feel sleepy. The patter of rain outside and the warmth of Tom's body pressed up against his was a lethal combination. His breaths came long and lazy as he closed his eyes for the second time.

"Harry?"

"Hmm, yeah?" Harry blinked his eyes open, which took some effort. The room was darker than before. Had Tom switched off the lights? How much time had passed?

"I... would like your opinion on something."

"Oh?" Harry rubbed at his face, determined to give Tom as much of his capacity to think as possible. "Yeah. Of course. What is it?"

Tom wasted no time in getting right into it, and Harry suspected that he must have been sitting on this speech for a while. "My current client is after an item of high sentimental value,” Tom said, frowning. “Aside from that, the item is extremely rare and possesses many powerful magical properties. Any sane person would be reluctant to part with it, even for the most lucrative offer."

"Sounds like a difficult task," Harry allowed. "So you're trying to find it? Or convince someone to sell it to you for the shop?"

"I have located the present owner. The difficulty I face, as you have correctly identified, is convincing them to part ways with the item. I have tried—" Tom's eyes tightened around the edges, a subtle betrayal of the tension lurking underneath. "—a great deal of angles, you may be assured. They have no need for money, and there are no other comparable luxuries I have available to offer them. They do not wish to sell."

Harry mulled that over. Someone who had no need for money wouldn't be satisfied with more money. This problem had to be solved with something more fulfilling than material items.

"Can you tell me more about the client?" Harry asked.

"The client?" Tom's brows knit together for a brief second. "I suppose the confidentiality doesn't matter much, seeing as you don't know who it is."

"I don't want you getting into trouble, though. If you can't say anything—"

"Harry," said Tom, exasperated. "I trust you with what I tell you. If I was truly concerned about consequences, then I would keep the information to myself."

Harry flushed. The subject of magic and the rules around its secrecy remained a touchy subject between the two of them, but Tom's words were reassuring. "Alright. Sorry I interrupted, then. Go on."

Tom took a moment to peck Harry on the forehead before he continued in a low, lulling cadence that washed over Harry like a bedtime story, "This item belonged to my client's family for several generations. They are descendants of one of Hogwarts' greatest founders, Salazar Slytherin. The lineage is prestigious, revered, and the history of this item is illustrious and dates back to the 10th century."

"Was the item stolen?" Harry wondered. How else could it have been lost?

Tom grimaced. "It was not, though I would attribute that to the obscurity of its placement rather than the ease of its theft. Should anyone have attempted a robbery, no doubt it would have been lost sooner."

"So it was misplaced?"

"All in due time, darling." Tom sighed, then, like he was recalling a particularly sad memory. "It was sold under unfortunate circumstances. Not by coercion," Tom added, likely reading the question right off of Harry's face. "The decision was made under duress and a desperation for funds."

"Oh." That _was_ unfortunate. Harry could not imagine being parting with any of his parents' heirlooms, even if he was forced to choose between having them and having food to eat. "And now they want the item back, only trying to buy it back isn't working?"

"Essentially, yes."

"It's a shame," Harry said. "Something like that... it should belong with the family. It's really not fair that they were forced to sell it in the first place."

"You see the right of it so easily," Tom murmured. His arm wrapped itself more firmly around Harry’s shoulders. "It comes so naturally to you. If only the rest of the world was as forgiving as you, Harry. It would be a better place."

Harry frowned. "Shouldn't everyone see it like that, though? Anyone with an ounce of sympathy in them ought to be understanding about the situation your client went through. Have you tried telling the owner why your client wants this item back so badly? Maybe giving them the item's backstory would help convince them to sell it to you."

"As wonderful as that idea sounds, I feel it won't be quite as successful as you imagine," Tom said slowly.

"But why not? You already said you've tried so many other things. It's like, y'know, using pathos. It's a perfectly valid option. At least give it a try. What can it hurt? They already know you're trying to buy the item from them, right? And that it's for someone. Give the request some emotional depth and see where it goes."

"I—" Tom blew out a frustrated sigh. "I suppose you're correct. I'm nearing my wit's end with this, which is why I asked for your opinion. But it will pain me to try, I hope you know."

"I have the utmost faith in your ability to charm the pants off whoever this is," Harry said. "You'll deliver the world's most tragic sob story—really sell it to them—and then they'll be dying to give it to you."

Tom made a soft noise of contentment. "Thank you. I'll keep you informed on the results."

"Good." Harry let himself relax, slumping back against Tom's shoulder. "I'm all invested now. I want to hear you've succeeded."

"Now I'll be sure to succeed, won't I? I'd hate to disappoint you, love."

"You could never," Harry said. He stuffed his arm into the crack where Tom's back met the couch cushions so he could give Tom a one-armed hug. "You are the best magical-item purchaser in the world. You could get them to sell you the crown jewels, if you tried."

"It's acquisitions." Tom's words were threaded with amusement. "Though I will say it is an improvement from when you called me a salesperson."

"Yes," Harry said cheerfully. "Because you don't sell things, you buy them. I'm learning!"

"You have come a long way," Tom said, repeating those words Harry had once said to him, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. "And I am very proud of you."

An absurd amount of affection suffused Harry's chest, saturating him with feelings of tenderness. Feelings of fondness and—

Harry let his eyes close for the third time, let the lullaby of Tom's steady breathing carry him into a state of tranquility. The rain was going strong outside, and Harry had never felt more comfortable in his life.

"You're a sap," Harry mumbled indistinctly. "With lots of mushy feelings."

Tom's response was just as quiet, so low that Harry had to strain to hear it above the storm on the other side of the wall. "If I do, then it must only be for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can pry soft tomarry from my cold, dead hands. i love them so much


	6. It's An Exaggeration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets some of Tom's friends. They are simultaneously what he expects and not what he expects.

Tom had joked not once, but three times, that he would show up to meet Ron and Hermione while in wizard robes. Harry had threatened not once, but at least half a dozen times, that Tom would be exiled from the flat for at least two weeks.

Two weeks was probably pushing it. Harry wasn't sure if either of them could actually go two weeks without seeing each other. One week was possible, but Harry knew he was liable to get bored and lonely if Tom wasn't around.

Did Tom feel the same way? Tom rented a flat somewhere in magical London; a place he said was more for directing his mail than living in. It sounded lonely to Harry, at any rate.

They'd grown so used to each other that Harry couldn't imagine a life where Tom didn't just show up at all hours of the day and flop down onto Harry's couch like he owned the place.

Tom was working more hours lately, though, occupied with his job and the procurement of that rare item he'd gone on about. From what Harry had gathered, it was still slow going, mainly because Tom's busy schedule prevented him from paying the item's owner a visit.

"Borgin is overworking me on purpose," Tom muttered. They were in the living room, lights on, a large bowl of chocolate ice cream on the coffee table in front of them. "He is trying to snatch my sale out from under me, I'm sure of it."

Harry spooned some ice cream and held it up. Reluctantly, Tom opened his mouth and accepted it, grimacing slightly at the chill. "But you work for him," Harry said. "Why would he be trying to sabotage you?"

"It's more complex than that," Tom said, waving an airy hand. "The client isn't one of his. He must have found out that I was making inquiries and seen fit to offload all these cumbersome tasks in an attempt to derail me from my goal."

"But you'll get some free time soon, right? He can only work you so much before it's unreasonable," Harry said worriedly. "You have laws for these sorts of things? You get paid overtime?"

"I have time for you, don't I? That's all that really matters." Tom hummed, stretching his arm around Harry's shoulders. "But you're correct; I'll be having words with him soon if this keeps up."

Harry scoffed but reached for the bowl of ice cream, pulling it onto his lap before he tucked himself into Tom's embrace. "Good. You're an awful grouch when you're tired."

"Am not." Tom stole the ice cream spoon from the bowl and took a scoop. "I am always perfectly civil."

"Lies." Harry stole the spoon back and poked at the remaining lump of ice cream. He should have remembered to buy a waffle bowl. Tom was too distracting—they always ended up with a decent-sized puddle of melted ice cream left behind.

"Am not," Tom repeated. "In fact, I have free time this weekend. I want to have you over for tea."

Harry felt his brows rise halfway up his forehead. "You want to have me over?"

"No need to sound so surprised," Tom said mildly. "I'm aware this is new territory for us. But some of my... friends... would like to meet you. And I suppose seeing as I've been acquainted with your friends Hermione and Ron, it is only fair that I return the favour."

"Meeting new people isn't a  _ favour," _ Harry grumbled. "It's a normal thing that people do to make new friends."

"I'll come and fetch you," Tom continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "Eleven on Saturday?"

"Sounds awesome." Harry didn't have the heart to even poke fun at Tom's avoidance of the subject. Truthfully, he was excited to step further into Tom's world. Still, he had to ask, just to be sure: "Are you not worried about the secrecy thing?"

"Nothing to worry about, darling. They wouldn't dare breathe a word." Tom shifted like he was about to press a kiss to the top of Harry's head, but then he stopped mid-motion. Probably because they had been eating ice cream, which was messy.

Well, if Tom wasn't worried then it ought to be fine, though Harry hoped that Tom's friends knew what they were getting themselves into.

Then another thought occurred to him. Harry didn't  _ think _ Tom would do such a thing but... he had to ask. Because there was all the chance in the world that Tom would definitely do such a thing.

"You didn't tell them that we're married, did you?"

"No. Don't be ridiculous."

Harry played the words over in his head, trying to discern if it was the truth. Then he decided it probably wasn't worth the effort. If Tom had gone and done such a thing, he would certainly be backpedalling now.

* * *

That Saturday, Harry experienced Apparition for the first time. It was, admittedly, something he had been curious about for a while now. Tom popped in and out of his flat all the time, even made it look  _ easy, _ and so Harry could only wonder what the sensation of transporting from one place to another felt like.

In hindsight, he had likely let his excitement over experiencing magic firsthand spill all over his expectations. He had taken to thinking about the event of Apparition with rose-coloured glasses. Truly there was not a single minute of any hour when Harry could be permitted to forget exactly how inept his boyfriend was at functioning as a normal human being.

At eleven on Saturday, Tom arrived to transport Harry via Apparition. Harry greeted Tom with a kiss, as usual, then asked how things were going to go. Tom then proceeded to give the world’s lamest advanced warning before offering his arm out for Harry to take. Harry had taken it, and then Tom vanished them both from Harry’s living room without further ado.

Now all of that sounded perfectly normal. Fine, even. Only Tom's idea of a warning consisted of informing Harry that there would be ‘minor discomfort', which did not adequately describe what Harry could only compare to the world's most uncomfortable full-body hug. There had been a giant snake, and the snake had eaten him. Only the snake had been made of air and its stomach was a gigantic black hole of doom and despair.

Harry did not scream or throw up, but it was a near thing. Even if he had screamed, it was a manly scream that was lost inside of the strange wind tunnel of the imaginary snake esophagus that Tom had tricked him into entering.

They reappeared in the middle of Tom’s flat. Harry was in no state of mind to look around; he had to hold himself very still and count his breaths one at a time. If he had known Apparition was going to be so goddamn weird, he would have taken a deep breath  _ before _ Tom had teleported them.

The sad part was, Harry didn't think he could even be that mad about it. Clearly this was something Tom was used to. It probably had not occurred to Tom that Apparition required a detailed explanation; after all, he had been doing it for months while Harry watched.

“I find it hard to believe  _ that _ is something people just get used to,” Harry finally said once he had caught his breath enough to speak. “I feel like all my insides have been put into a Magic Bullet for about half an hour and then tossed like a very vigorously-made salad.”

“That is an exaggeration, Harry.”

Harry squinted up at his boyfriend. “Do you even know what a Magic Bullet is? Actually, nevermind.”

Harry had gotten Tom a mobile phone just last week. The first few days of watching Tom struggle with autocorrect had been kind of funny, but Harry suspected that Tom must have found out how to switch the function off because lately the number of typos had seen a sharp decline. Either it was that, or Tom was obsessively checking over each text before he sent it.

Maybe it was mean to hope for the latter, but the mental image of Tom squinting at his phone screen like a middle-aged mum was a beautiful mix of adorable and hilarious. So Harry was kind of hoping it was the latter.

Finally, Harry tore his eyes away from Tom’s face so he could take a proper look at the flat.

It was smaller than Harry had expected it to be. That didn't mean that it was a small place to live—he’d just thought that Tom lived somewhere grand and spacious. Or maybe that was the vibe Tom gave off, that he lived in a giant bachelor’s pad. Regardless of the size, though, the look of this place was inline with how Harry had imagined Tom’s flat to be.

There was a brown leather futon against the side wall and a fancy glass coffee table in front of it. All of it was minimalist in the way that screamed 'interior design catalogue'. One singular landscape painting was hung up above the futon, and on the opposite wall were built-in planks of dark cherry wood that served as basic shelving units. Glancing downwards revealed that the flooring matched the shelves. Had Tom paid someone to do this? Or was this all his own idea? This flat really did belong in a paid advertisement for IKEA.

“Is there anything magic here?” Harry asked curiously. So far it all looked very… normal. Which was not a bad thing by any means because Apparition had been enough of a surprise for one day. Harry hadn't even met Tom's friends yet.

Tom’s brows rose for a brief second. Then his forehead smoothed over and his mouth curled into a smirk. “Were you expecting anything in particular?”

Harry paused. What  _ had _ he expected? A bubbling cauldron? A shelf full of books that sparkled? A fire-breathing dragon on a perch?

Tom seemed to read the bemusement in Harry’s expression, because he stepped closer and tucked his arm around Harry’s waist. Then he leant in and said, “I’m a wizard, Harry, not a barbarian. I don’t live in a cave full of talking snakes and ancient scrolls.”

“Yes, yes," Harry said, injecting disbelief into his tone, "you’re a modern man who owns a mobile phone and also  _ knocks _ before entering people’s flats.”

Tom withdrew enough for Harry to catch the teasing glint in his eyes. “Precisely. I'm pleased we have reached an understanding on this.”

"Sure," Harry said, dragging the vowel sounds out. He rolled his eyes to make sure Tom knew that his slick behaviour was not-so-slick, then allowed Tom to lead him over to the futon.

“Did you want anything to drink? Water? Tea?” Tom asked as Harry sat down.

Harry waved it off. He wasn't particularly thirsty at the moment. Not to mention if Tom did give him something to drink, he would drink all of it because he was nervous, and then he would end up going to the bathroom every half hour like a weirdo. “I’m fine, thanks. When will your friends get here?”

Tom took a seat next to him. “We’re early. Don’t fret.” Tom appeared as comfortable in his own home as he did in Harry’s—he had not quite adopted the stiff, informal posture he utilized in public, but his pose was still refined enough to look graceful.

“I’m not fretting.”

Tom only continued to smile in that infuriating way he had when he thought he was the smartest person in the universe. Harry let him have it. Most of their time spent at Harry’s flat involved him bullying Tom about not understanding Muggle technology, so it was not a huge concession to let Tom have his fun here.

“Who am I meeting, anyways?” Harry asked. He'd been overthinking this meeting so much that he'd forgotten to ask basic questions like  _ who he was meeting. _ Thank god Tom had no social skills to boast of, or else Harry likely would have been roasted for asking such a stupid question. Ron and Hermione would certainly make fun of him for it later.

“Some of my associates.”

“Coworkers?”

Tom made a mild face of distaste. “Merlin, no.”

Harry suppressed a snort and slouched against the futon. “How are things at work, by the way? Are you any closer to getting some time to talk to the seller? If Borgin's still fucking around, you should kick his ass.” If they were going to pass the time, Harry needed a distraction, and that distraction would have to take place in the form of conversation.

“I have an appointment with her in a week,” Tom said smugly. “I have drafted a few different approaches based on what you suggested, and I have high hopes for a successful purchase.”

“That’s great,” Harry said. “I hope it works out.” Honestly, he did. Tom had been stressing about this for ages now, and it made Harry happy to see Tom confident about his chance of success. If Tom was feeling this good about it, then Harry was sure that Tom would get what he wanted.

Tom’s self-satisfied expression softened somewhat. “I do, too. It would make my life easier if it did.”

Harry shuffled closer and pressed himself against Tom’s arm, hooking his chin on Tom's shoulder and bumping his head against the side of Tom's jaw. “All the more reason for me to really, really hope that it works out for you, then.”

* * *

An hour or so later, Harry dearly wished he had taken Tom up on his offer for a drink. To think that dealing with  _ Tom _ had felt like a handful; Harry had been sorely mistaken about his capacity to deal with weirdness. There were greater weirds in the world than one socially-inept wizard in your flat, and one of those greater weirds was meeting  _ multiple _ socially-inept wizards at your wizard boyfriend's flat. Tom could say all he wanted that his friends were 'members of high society'. Harry was not buying it in the slightest.

“It was an absolute  _ pleasure _ to meet you today, Harry.”

Harry hesitated for a whole second before he placed his hand in Abraxas Malfoy’s grasp and allowed the man a brief shake. He was having difficulty ditching the feeling that he was being hit on. Only… that couldn’t be the case because it was pretty clear, from Harry’s perspective, that all of Tom’s friends held Tom in high regard. They wouldn’t dare put moves on his boyfriend.

That had actually been one of the most reassuring things to come out of this meeting; all of Tom’s friends were totally at ease with his and Tom's relationship.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Harry replied.

Abraxas beamed. “I hope Tom does deign to let us see you again soon. The way he boasts about you is impressive, coming from him. Tom thinks you’ve hung the  _ moon _ and the  _ stars—” _

From somewhere behind Harry's shoulder, Tom cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Wonderful to see you, Abraxas. Didn’t you say you had an appointment?”

“What? Did I? I don’t recall mentioning such a thing—”

Harry snickered loudly as Tom shoved Abraxas towards the door.

“See you soon, Harry!” exclaimed Orion. “I had great fun today.” He stretched his arms out and pulled Harry in for a hug. The hug was fast enough that it concluded before Tom could chase Orion away, much to Harry's amusement. Orion waved goodbye before Disapparating with a soft ‘pop’.

“Mannerless scoundrels,” Tom said once the door was firmly shut.

Harry felt a strange need to defend them. "They're not so terrible," he said. "They remind me of you, a little. When we first met."

Tom’s scowl deepened. He glared at the door. “No need to worry. You won’t be seeing them again. Not until they can behave themselves.”

"Uh huh," Harry said. He had his doubts as to the veracity of that statement.

* * *

Later that week, Orion invited both Harry and Tom over for tea. Tom tried to dissuade him, but Harry held firm. He  _ liked _ Orion. It would be rude to say no when they both were free. Tom could mumble excuses all he liked; Harry already knew Tom's schedule. There was no escaping.

Unfortunately, Harry was so determined to make sure that his agreeableness to Tom's friends was known that he'd forgotten sometimes Tom could be right. In this case, Tom was correct in stating that Orion was the walking, talking personification of dramatics.

Harry had originally dismissed this concern because  _ Tom _ was dramatic and therefore prone to heavy exaggeration. However, the truth of this was not that Tom was exaggerating about Orion's dramatics. What was the truth was that Tom thought Orion was genuinely, irrevocably, and utterly overdramatic. So once Harry had paused to think about that, had paused to scale the entire idea of what  _ Tom _ thought was dramatic—

"I don’t know what I did wrong!” Orion blindly stretched a hand out, palm up and fingers outstretched, in Harry's direction. Dutifully, Harry deposited a new handful of tissues into it and patted the man on the back. "She’s always  _ mad _ at me," Orion wailed.

Harry winced as Orion blew his nose loudly into a fresh tissue. “That’s rough, mate. If she’s making you this unhappy, have you considered breaking it off? Or telling her that if she’s not willing to talk it out fairly, that you  _ want _ to break it off?”

Orion let out a snot-filled sound that somehow conveyed a great deal of shock and horror. "I couldn't do that, Harry! I  _ love _ her!"

"Er, right. But loving someone doesn’t mean you have to put up with them yelling at you for no good reason." Harry was definitely going to yell at Tom for abandoning him here to deal with Orion's girlfriend problems.

Orion sniffled some more into his tissues. Harry rubbed Orion's back a few more times, then was badly startled when Orion promptly straightened. The motion was so unexpected that Harry nearly knocked the back of his head into the wall behind them.

"You know what, Harry? You’re absolutely correct. I need to be more assertive. I need to tell her no!" Orion nodded to himself, his tearful voice firming as he spoke. "She keeps saying I have no spine, so I have to prove her wrong. I’m going to tell her that she’s a whiny, money-leeching harpy!" Orion was really going for it now, making sweeping hand gestures and everything. "And I'm going to tell her that the Fat Lady's singing sounds loads better than her shrieking!"

“Um, that’s not exactly what—”

“Harry, you are a genius. I am  _ so glad _ that Tom is dating you.” Orion swivelled around, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Genius!”

Harry spluttered a protest. "Wait, Orion, I don’t know if you should be doing that. In fact," he added, "I really, really think you should  _ not _ do that. Like, at all. Do not do that. Please do not."

"Nonsense. This is the best I’ve felt in ages! I’m going to go to her house right now.” Orion stood up and straightened his sweater vest. "I am going to show her that I have balls. She can't push me around anymore!"

"Wait," Harry protested. He stood up and went to grab at Orion's arm, only Orion danced out of the way, shaking his head. "Orion, I'm serious, please—oh, and he's gone. Great." Harry glanced around the empty living room and blew out a frustrated sigh. "Where the  _ fuck _ are you, Tom? Fucking coward. This isn't even my goddamn flat! What the hell."

* * *

Tom did not show up until maybe twenty minutes later. He seemed surprised to see that Harry was all by himself.

"I came back with an excuse to rescue you with," Tom insisted. "I was going to tell him that your friend Ron swallowed a love potion by mistake and I had to take him to St. Mungo's."

"What kind of excuse is that?" Harry asked sourly. "Ron doesn't even know what that is! And how in the world did you get from 'I need to check on the volatile potion I've got going in my flat' to 'my boyfriend's mate has swallowed a date rape drug and needs his stomach purged at the hospital'??"

"I'm surprised you remember what St. Mungo's is," Tom said, sounding impressed. "But worry not, I had a perfectly logical story all planned out. I'll simply save it for next time. Where is Orion, anyway? Did he leave to buy biscuits? He does that sometimes. There's this shop down the block that he likes—"

"Orion," Harry began dangerously, "has gone to go tell Walburga that he thinks she is, and I quote,  _ 'a whiny, money-leeching harpy'!!" _

"Oh. Hmm." Tom paused. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Harry dragged his hands over his face. "He's going to be slaughtered, Tom."

"It's not so bad. Maybe if she does try to kill him, he'll finally leave her."

"Terrible," Harry moaned. "Awful and horrible. This is all your fault. I can't believe you left me here to deal with that."

"I have been dealing with  _ that _ since I graduated Hogwarts," Tom said disdainfully. "Which was years ago, I might add. I warned you that there was a chance he'd be like this, but you chose not to listen to me."

"I thought you were just exaggerating," Harry said mulishly. "You are still an asshole for abandoning me here, by the way."

"How was I supposed to know Orion would just  _ leave _ you here by yourself?" Tom asked rhetorically. Then he grimaced, almost to himself, and added, "I swear he's so taken by you that he forgets you can't do magic."

"Well I wish he'd remember," Harry grumbled. "I  _ can't _ do magic, and I do not appreciate being stranded somewhere simply because I don't have the ability to momentarily squeeze all my atoms into an alternate dimension, or however the hell it is that Apparition works."

"What happens with Orion is out of your hands," Tom said sagely. "So it would be best for you to put it from your mind. We ought to leave while he's visiting her, actually. I'd hate to be here once he comes back."

Harry stared at Tom, appalled. "He's going to be a  _ wreck _ when he comes back, Tom. You can't tell me you honestly think we should leave him here all by himself."

"He's a grown man who can make his own decisions. If he genuinely does need help, he'll come and ask for it, trust me. Orion never fails to pester all of us with all the sordid details of his troublesome relationship. He and Walburga have broken up half a dozen times in the last three weeks, Harry. This is nothing."

"Ugh." Harry sighed. "I guess. I do trust that you know him better than I do. But the way he talks about her is just—"

"Dramatic?"

Harry scowled. "Yes. But also genuinely concerning, you prat."

Tom watched him for a long, curious moment. Harry folded his arms over his chest and waited for a response. Tom's stare did not unnerve him. He was used to the intensity of it.

Then Tom sighed, not in a weary way, but in a way that hinted at true acceptance and resignation. "I suppose we can wait for him to come back."

Harry allowed a small smile to cross his lips. "Good," he said, relaxing his arms and stepping over to give Tom a kiss on the cheek. "I'm pleased we've reached an understanding on this."

"You do enjoy doing that," Tom said, sounding amused. "Parroting my words back to me. Are my words so enticing that you must take them for yourself?"

Harry grinned. "What can I say? You're very relatable, Tom. I'd print your most iconic moments as catchphrases on shirts if I could. 'Feelings? What are those? Can I eat them?', 'If it's not black then I won't wear it because I never left my emo phase', and my personal favourite: 'Knock knock. Who's there? Not me, because I break into Harry's flat without asking'."

Tom's face did a very, very hilarious thing where it got all twisted up, as if it couldn't decide whether Tom was supposed to be laughing or expressing undiluted horror.

Harry saved Tom the trouble of having to pick a facial expression by pulling him in for a hug. Tom let out a soft 'oof' of surprise, then curled his arms around Harry's shoulders, holding him steady.

They stood there for a few moments, wrapped up in each other while in the middle of Orion's living room. Then Harry pulled away, still smiling, and said, "I appreciate that you let me poke fun at you, have I said that? Sometimes I wonder if I'm being too much. You can tell me to shove it if that's the case. I wouldn't be mad."

Tom huffed aloud, an affronted gust of air which Harry took to mean that Tom was not about to admit to anything unless he was on his deathbed, but also that the message was received loud and clear.

"Okay," Harry said, satisfied. "Let's wait for Orion to come back. I'm getting this odd, hopeful feeling that maybe things won't end horribly wrong for him?"

"I cannot possibly imagine where that feeling comes from, but I suppose I can get behind it, if only out of some final, dying desperation for Orion's love life to no longer be sporadically delivered to my doorstep like a special evening edition of the Daily Prophet."

"That is a weirdly specific metaphor."

"It is entirely accurate and appropriate for the situation, I can assure you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER COUNT IS FINALIZED. I'M SWEARING ON IT THIS TIME.
> 
> if it goes over seven i am going to cry real tears. anyways please leave me validation so i can find it in me to finally finish this story


	7. Tea with Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has tea with Orion Black, whose dating troubles have finally come to a surprising end. Then Tom whisks him away to an impromptu visit with Merope Gaunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [Coral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkJellyfish/works) for the beta on this chapter! you all have a better chapter bc of it

Some days later, Tom arrived at Harry's flat to find that it was empty. The confusion of finding that Harry was not home quickly dissolved into a mild sense of dismay.

Tom had just returned from his prearranged meeting with Hepzibah Smith; he was a buzz with pride and excitement, riding the high of having at last achieved his goal of obtaining the ancient, precious heirloom that Hepzibah had purchased from Borgin and Burke's so many years ago.

In the breast pocket of Tom's coat, encased in a velvet box, was Salazar Slytherin's locket. The locket that had once belonged to his mother. The locket she had sold to have money to raise him. There was a powerful satisfaction in knowing that he would be able to return this item to her, to repay her for the sacrifices she had made to give him a proper home.

Tom had given up job offers at the Ministry for this. He had chosen to work at Borgin and Burke's knowing that he would be best able to trace the path of the locket from there, would best be able to exact his revenge. For while Borgin had given Merope enough money to raise her child, the horrid shop owner had still taken advantage of a young woman with no options available to her. Now that Tom had the locket in his possession, he would be free to move onto greater, grander ambitions.

With this in mind, Tom had Apparated directly to the flat to share his joyous news with Harry, to divulge the full story of his success.

Only, Harry was not here. Tom paced two frantic loops around the living room before he thought to check his mobile phone. Sure enough, there was a text waiting for him from Harry.

**Today at 5:21 PM**

> kidnapped by orion for girl troubles :/

> SOS bat signal

**Today at 5:33 PM**

> jk i think everything is okay for once???

> no need for a rescue, bruce wayne

> i'll get orion to drop me off at home once he's done talking at me

The last few texts had been sent ten minutes ago. Tom put the phone away, intending to Apparate to Orion's place and steal Harry away anyways. His hand hovered over the button to turn the screen off when another message buzzed through.

Tom held his phone with both hands as it continued to vibrate. More of Harry's messages came through and filled the screen with incorrect spellings and grammatical inconsistencies.

**Today at 5:45 PM**

> OMG

> ur not gonna BELIEVE this

> when ur done at work you gotta come here asap

> also would it kill u to respond first for once instead of just appearing and scaring the shit out of me whenever i text u

> texting is so u don't have to respond in person

> its the entire point of it

> also i swear this orion thing is not a trap

> virtual pinky swear

> kisses and hugs swear

> pls come xoxo harry

Tom narrowed his eyes and pulled up the menu to type a response. Why did he need to bother with a response when it was faster to arrive in person? Tom could see the appeal of texting versus owl letters, but if they were both available, it only made sense for Tom to answer in person.

**Today at 5:47 PM**

> Okay.

Tom disapparated.

* * *

Orion Black's flat was a mess. More of a mess than usual, even. There was an enormous, half-eaten buttercream cake laid out on the coffee table in front of where Harry and Orion were sitting. Harry had a porcelain plate in hand, fat slice of cake on top of it. At the sound of Tom's appearance, his entire face lit up.

"Tom!" exclaimed Harry. He set the plate of cake down on the table and stood up. "I'm glad you could make it. How was your meeting?"

"It went very well," Tom responded, bemused. The triumphant feeling of earlier had been set aside in face of his current confusion. "Are we... celebrating something here?"

Had Orion finally broken up with that harpy? Tom looked over at his friend. Orion was grinning ear to ear, scooping bites of cake into his mouth. Perhaps Harry had worked some wonderful Muggle advice and gotten Orion to see the light.

"Harry's advice worked!" Orion declared, brandishing his fork in the air. "So I'm thanking him with cake!"

Said cake seemed fit to feed at least a dozen people. Tom stared at it for a moment, then went to sit down on the couch next to Harry. "It worked?" he repeated, shifting his gaze to Harry, who only offered a blank, wide-eyed smile.

"Yes," Orion said promptly. "All this time I was so worried about upsetting her that I kept treating her like a fragile flower! Women don't want to be treated like fragile flowers! They want to be equals," Orion added passionately, "and they are willing to smack you in the face to make their points!"

That still did not feel quite right to Tom, but he was willing to go with it if it meant that Orion was finally happy. "So you treat her as an equal now, I take it?"

"I let her hold the door for me," Orion said. "And pull my chair out for me."

"Yes," Harry interjected, "a good talk is good for everyone, isn't it? And it's much better now that it's all out in the open and you've set boundaries."

Tom was having difficulties wrapping his head around all this. Yes, Orion tended to be rather... excessive in his relationships, romantic or not, but it had never occurred to Tom that the issue was Orion's loud, overbearing nature rather than Walburga's general disagreeableness. Walburga had always been a woman of strong opinions. Perhaps Orion's chivalrous tendencies had gone too far?

"When we were arguing," Orion said in a more serious tone, "I realized that I had never actually  _ argued _ with her before. Usually I just let her yell at me because I don't want to upset her. But she thought I wasn't listening to her! So when I was yelling at her that she was crazy, she got kind of excited? It was very weird."

Tom reached for the cake knife to distract himself only for Harry to knock his hand away. "I'm not gonna finish this," Harry whispered pleadingly, shoving his own plate into Tom's hands. "This is already my third slice."

Harry's slice was rather massive. Tom doubted he'd be able to finish it either.

"Did you want cake, Tom?" Orion said suddenly. "I'm being a terrible host. Did you want tea? Water?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Tom offered a smile. "I'll just have a bit of Harry's. Why don't you continue filling me in?"

Orion nodded and let out a wistful sigh. "I thought I was supposed to be her boyfriend and do boyfriend things to make her happy, like carry her things for her, but now I can see that I should be asking her what makes her happy first!"

"Which is great," Harry agreed. "And hopefully means you two will have less arguments in the future?"

"Um," Orion said, face flushing, "I don't know about that."

Harry frowned. "But things are better now, aren't they? You're talking your problems out and communicating rather than bottling them up?"

Orion picked up his mug and held it partially in front of his face. "Well, um, Harry, you see, when we were yelling at each other and she was getting all excited, ah, she kind of pushed me up against the wall and—"

"I think we understand what you mean," Tom said loudly, rubbing at his temples.

"—it was very attractive," Orion finished in a mumble, staring at his cup. "I don't think she'll mind if I try yelling again in the future."

"Er," Harry said. "That's... good to hear. So long as everything is, er, consensual."

Tom set his plate aside and stood up. "On that note, I think Harry and I ought to depart for the evening. Thank you for the cake, Orion. And congratulations on your successful relationship."

"Oh, but the cake is for Harry! Let me wrap this up for you then, it won't take long—" With a wand gesture, Orion had the enormous cake tucked away into its original box, ribbon and all, and deposited into Harry's unwilling hands.

"Thanks," Harry said, giving the box a delicate shake.

"No, thank  _ you _ so much," Orion gushed. "If you hadn't encouraged me to be myself and be honest with her, this never would have happened!"

"It was nothing, really." Harry shuffled over to Tom and kicked at his foot. "I'm happy I could help!"

Tom cleared his throat and took Harry by the arm. "Good bye, Orion. We'll see you soon."

* * *

Tom took them back to his own flat instead of Harry's. He released Harry's arm, then shed his coat, tossing it onto his coat rack, using wandless magic to guide its path. Then he began to loosen his tie, undoing the knot he had meticulously tied this morning.

Harry wobbled slightly, the box of cake in his hands tilting, but he found his footing quickly and straightened. "Why are we here?" Harry asked. "Also, I think I'm just gonna give the rest of this cake to Ron and Hermione. If I have to eat another bite of it, I'm gonna puke."

"The cake can go in the refrigerator," Tom said absently, working his tie off and rolling it in his hands. "I just need to change my clothes. I'll be back in a moment."

When Tom returned, Harry was standing awkwardly in the middle of the dining room, although Tom was glad to see that Harry had at least rid himself of the cake box. "Oh," Harry said upon seeing him. "You changed clothes."

Tom raised a brow. "I said I would."

"Yes, but—" Harry waved his hands in a formless motion to indicate Tom's body. "—you're wearing a jumper. And trousers that aren't black. Or grey."

"Oh?" Tom smiled and sauntered forwards until he was practically looming over Harry, who was now scant inches away. "How do I look?"

Harry slowly lifted a hand, his eyes fixed on Tom as he did so, and placed his palm on Tom's chest, right above the heart. Tom let his smile widen into a smug smirk as Harry's fingers curled into the soft fabric, clutching tightly. Then, as if Harry was using the grip as leverage, Harry shifted his weight, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet so he could better meet Tom's gaze.

"How do you look?" Harry repeated innocently, cocking his head to the side. His breath fanned across Tom's face, the faint scent of sweet buttercream lingering. Tom had not eaten much of Orion's ridiculous cake, but the taste of it, surely, still existed in Harry's mouth. A creamy excess of sugar that Tom usually hated.

Tom hummed in response, bringing both hands to Harry's waist. If he tilted his head down, their foreheads would touch.

"I think," Harry continued slowly, dragging his hand down Tom's chest until his fingertips settled against the edge of his belt buckle, "you look very handsome, Tom. And in fact," he murmured, giving Tom's belt a light pat, "I would love for you to take me right here in the middle of your flat."

"But," Harry added brightly, bouncing back onto his heels, restoring more distance between them than Tom would have liked, "I assume you've changed clothes for a reason, so our fun will have to be delayed, won't it?"

If this had been any other evening, Tom would have denied having made plans. He would have wiped the impish grin right off of Harry's face and fulfilled Harry's proposition of ravishment in the living room. Unfortunately, Tom  _ had _ made plans, plans that were more important to him than defiling Harry in his flat for the first time, shockingly enough.

Tom sighed and gave Harry's waist a light squeeze before dropping his hands and offering his arm. "I will be taking you up on that offer later," Tom promised darkly. "Don't think you've gotten away with this."

Harry's smile was equal parts amused and fond. "Oh, I don't doubt that."

* * *

Tom had his breath held as the front garden materialized around him. It was not good practice to hold one's breath during Apparition. The suction of air and subsequent lack of oxygen tended to cause those with weaker lungs to pass out. The best way to go about it was to start a deep exhale—that way the release of carbon dioxide was timed with the duration of travel.

The garden was quiet, peaceful. A neatly-trimmed lawn and two long window boxes of colourful verbena and fuschia. Pruned red and pink roses lay along the path that led up to the door of the tiny house. Tom released the breath held tight in his chest and turned to look at Harry.

Harry blinked, the low light of the setting sun casting dark shadows on his face. "Where are we, Tom?"

Tom inhaled the scent of the flowers, the fresh air, the peace of familiarity that settled comfortably in the pit of his stomach, easing his nerves. "This is my mother's house. My childhood home."

Harry made a soft noise of acknowledgement, reaching out, his hand bumping into Tom's and twisting their fingers together into a clumsy lump of reassurance. "It looks lovely, Tom."

The house was small. It was neither grand nor luxurious in its quaintness. Prior to Tom's seventeenth birthday, his mother had done her best with landscaping and home repairs, using her magic to shape the residence into something liveable, something to be proud of. Once Tom was of age, he had taken over the task, managing the gardens and fixing the broken hinges in the kitchen. It was not perfect, this house, but it had been built with careful hands. It was home.

Tom had always hungered for more in life, for better than what he had been born into, but he could not deny the sentimental value of the place his mother had built with love. If he dreamed of expensive manors with sweeping grounds that would put even Hogwarts to shame, then that was a separate fantasy from this reality, from the reality where his mother lived in a small house near Wimbourne and expected her darling son to visit at least once a week.

"I haven't told her I'd be visiting with you," Tom said quietly. "I wasn't sure how today would go."

Harry nodded as though this made sense. "That's okay. I really am glad to hear that today went well, though. I forgot to say so earlier because we were all, you know, caught up with Orion's business. But I am proud of you, Tom. You've been working at that seller for ages. That heirloom will be going back to its proper family, thanks to you."

Tom untangled his hand from Harry's and raised it to the pocket of his coat, retrieving the velvet box from its depths. "I have it here. Would you like to see?"

Harry cast a brief, curious glance towards the door of the house, then turned his attention back to Tom, to the box in his hand. "Sure, if you’d like."

Tom lifted the lid, revealing the locket within. Shiny, polished gold and an 'S' inlaid with emeralds. The design was not immensely attractive, but the locket itself did emit a faint pulse of magic that hinted at possible hidden elements.

"Fancy," Harry said. "It certainly looks ancient. Does it do anything?"

"Not that I'm aware of." There would be time to find out, however.

"Maybe the family knows what to do with it," Harry allowed. "Either way, it'll be back where it belongs."

Tom looked to the door. "Yes, it will."

Harry followed the direction of Tom's gaze, his expression changing as the meaning sunk in. "Tom? It isn't... is it?"

Tom permitted himself a smile. "I am bringing this home where it belongs, Harry."

Harry's entire demeanour softened. "I should have known that this was more than just a lucrative job. This means a lot to you."

"It does." Tom reached for Harry's hand once more, took it in his own and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. "That this locket has returned to my hands, to my family, is thanks to you."

They walked the short path to the door. Tom kept Harry's hand clasped in his as he knocked on the door, two brief knocks that his mother would recognize.

When the door swung open, Tom felt a tingle of nerves shoot up his spine. The locket, returned to his pocket, was a heavy weight, but would that weight be enough?

If Merope did not approve of their relationship, Tom could not bear it. He would be torn between his loyalty to his mother, who had given so much to raise him, and to Harry, whom Tom had given his heart to. This was the moment he had dreaded, the meeting he had wished to avoid.

But Harry was worth it. Harry had proven with time and patience that he was everything Tom dreamed of in a partner and more.

So today they would present Slytherin's locket together, proof that Harry was unlike all the other Muggles they had known. Proof that Harry was not like Tom's father. Tom had given Harry plenty of reasons to turn away, reasons other than the danger of magic, but Harry had stayed through all of them. There was no doubt in Tom's mind that Harry would stay through this, too, even if it ended badly.

Merope opened the door. She was dressed in a plain blue jumper and long grey trousers. Her hair was pulled back into a braided bun that sat high on her head. As she took in the sight of them, she smiled brilliantly. Her joy was infectious; Tom felt his own smile appear as a reflection of hers.

"Tom, darling. And you've brought a friend!" Merope held out her hands, then her arms. Tom stepped into the embrace, folding his mother into his arms. She smelled of lavender and mint, of fresh bread and a final element that he could only describe as a warm reminder of home.

"Mother, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mother, Merope Gaunt."

"Harry Potter," repeated Merope. "It is lovely to meet you. Tom hasn't brought anyone new to see me in ages! One would think he has no other friends."

Harry laughed at the joke, then glanced at Tom, a question visible in his eyes. Tom coughed once to catch his mother's attention, and then, summoning his courage, said carefully, "Harry is my boyfriend, mother."

"Oh!" Merope's eyes widened as she looked between the two of them. Then she began to fuss, stepping back from the door and waving them in. "Come in, come in. Have a seat. I have some croissants for you today, Tom, and Harry, you may have some as well." She gave Tom's cheek a pat. "You work three times as much as you eat, which is to say you work too much and eat too little."

They passed through the entrance and into the sitting room. A squashy grey loveseat and matching armchair awaited them. Tom pulled Harry towards the loveseat and sat them down while Merope busied herself in the kitchen.

"Tea? Water? Apple juice? I bought your favourite brand, Tom. They finally restocked at the market."

Tom flushed, expecting Harry to snicker at him, but Harry only laid a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. "Anything is fine," Tom called back. "Juice will do."

Merope returned with a tray topped with croissants and glasses of apple juice. Tom took his share immediately, knowing that if he did not, he would be nagged to eat and drink.

"Any allergies, Harry?"

"No, Mrs. Gaunt. But thank you for asking." Harry picked up a croissant and took a small bite, revealing a reddish filling within. He chewed and swallowed before adding, "This is very delicious."

"Berry medley," Merope declared loftily. "Just a light snack before dinner. Goodness knows if Tom eats anything more he won't finish his plate." She settled onto the armchair and propped her chin on her right hand while she watched them eat. "And you may call me Merope, dear. A love of Tom's is a love of mine. It cheers me to know that Tom has found someone kind to share his heart with."

This was treading into dangerous territory. They had barely been here five minutes and his mother was already embarrassing him with talk of his eating habits and emotions. Tom took another bite of his croissant to avoid having to say anything. Harry shot him a  _ look, _ but thankfully did not seem irritated at being left hung out to dry.

"I'm very lucky Tom has decided to include me in his life," Harry said agreeably. "Even if he never finishes his plate."

"Ah," Merope said, leaning forward, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I sense a kindred spirit. Do you also try, and fail, to instill the concept of regular meals into my son?"

"I eat regularly," Tom interjected crossly.

"You eat when I feed you," Harry retorted, just as Merope said, "Visiting your mother once a week is not a regular meal, darling."

Tom jammed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the velvet box. Then, as his mother's eyes widened, Tom hurried to say, "It's not what you think."

"Tom hasn't even met  _ my _ parents yet," Harry added in a cheerful tone.

Merope laughed and waved an airy hand. "Such a scare for your poor mother, Tom," she scolded. "And I would hope that you ask poor Harry's parents for permission before you attempt to tie him down."

Tom scowled. "If you would cease mocking me for a moment, the both of you, I do have something important to say."

"Sorry, darling," Merope said, now the epitome of contrition as she folded her hands in her lap. "I am ready to listen to your story."

Tom held out the box.

The significance of the moment must have sunk in, then, because the laugh lines on Merope's face faded. "What is this?" she asked, cradling the case in her hands.

Tom hesitated, then decided it would be best to gauge her reaction before continuing. "Open it."

Merope's fingers fumbled with the lid. Slowly, she pried the case open, revealing the locket that lay nestled in deep green velvet.

For a time, no one spoke. Then Merope lifted an unsteady hand to her mouth, her eyes blank and unseeing, and said, "Where did you get this?"

"I bought it," Tom said roughly. He slid off the loveseat to kneel before her, taking her free hand in his. "I have the signed contract to prove it. This is yours, as it should be, and no one will ever take it from you again."

Merope's eyes, a plain, unassuming brown, brimmed with unshed tears. "This would not have been cheap," she snapped, her tone sharp as a whip even through the thick emotion clogging her throat. "I would never ask you to spend this kind of money on me. You have your own future to think of, Tom—"

"A future that I have thanks to you," Tom replied. "Do not worry about the cost. I have it covered."

Merope breathed in a long, shuddering intake of air. "If you tell me the cost is covered, then I won't ask any further. So in this case," she continued, smiling now, "I will only say thank you." She touched a finger to the shape of the inlaid initial, tracing the edges of it. "But I will ask how you came to find this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool cool cool. we're at eight chapters total now, please no one talk to me jsglskhdjfhfgj
> 
> just kidding please leave comments, i love them all dearly


	8. The Truth and Everything That Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom confesses the truth to his mother: that his boyfriend is a Muggle, not a wizard.

Tom had prepared a statement for this. A well-crafted exposition on his unfortunate struggle with Hepzibah Smith that detailed her difficult personality (which was putting it lightly, but Tom did not wish to concern his mother over the woman's abominable behaviour towards him—it would only cause pointless upset) and her snobbish greed. 

There was all the reason in the world for him to continue with his original plan, the plan he'd created to bridge the chasm between his mother and Harry. Yet now that the moment had arrived, Tom found that the words were dry in his mouth, the taste of them turned sour and unsavoury.

It was frustrating. He had a persuasive speech, a solid argument steeped in logic and reason. A speech which might have converted even the most stalwart of blood purists to consider his alternative viewpoint. But this was not the right approach to take with his mother, a woman whose opinion and feelings he respected. This, he realized, was the cause of his hesitation.

"You mentioned that you sold the locket to Borgin and Burkes," Tom began. "So I traced the sales history from there and located its present owner, a woman by the name of Hepzibah Smith."

Merope pursed her lips in a disapproving manner. "I asked you if that was the reason for your career choice, Tom. I told you not to settle. Was that a lie?"

Tom had the decency to grimace in embarrassment. He had not quite lied, but he had not been truthful, either. "No. I'll admit that there were more lucrative offers, but I do have a plan; I will no longer remain with Borgin now that I have what I want."

"You have always possessed the potential to be great," Merope said sharply. She snapped the jewelry box shut and set it aside. "I did not raise you to toil away in some shop for my sake. I thought it was because of your blood—" She broke off, her cheeks flushed an angry red. "I had assumed, foolishly, that was the reason. I see I was mistaken. How many offers did you refuse? What opportunities have you _wasted_ because of your misplaced righteousness?"

A numerous amount, to be fair. His professors had lamented his apparent lack of ambition. A boy too bright, they had said, to be squandered in a seedy Knockturn Alley shop. Hogwarts' Head Boy and a Slytherin, lowered to work at such a place? Even for a half-blood, it was a travesty.

Tom had borne the weight of gossip and mockery that trailed in his wake, his fists balled behind his back and his teeth clenched in a pleasant smile. Tom had done this for his mother, who was dear to him. He had done this for his ancestors, whose heirlooms belonged with their heirs. Tom had done this for himself, to prove a point, to carve his own path in an unorthodox manner—to set aside the ladder built by bigotted hands and do something that _mattered._

"I have wasted nothing," Tom said calmly. "I am where I have chosen to be, and I do not regret my choices in the slightest." Here he paused to glance at Harry, who was seated to his left. Harry offered a timid, encouraging smile in response—no doubt it was unpleasant to witness such a tense conversation.

"What I do," Tom said, looking back at his mother, "is for myself, not only for you. I am aware that you would have preferred for me to take a job at the Ministry." He took his mother's hands in his, willing her to understand. "We both wish the best for each other. Is that not something worthy of celebration?"

"You and your sweet words," Merope muttered, but the displeasure in her voice had lessened. "Fine. Continue with your story."

Tom beamed, knowing that the sight of his smile would delight her, and added, "I knew you would see my way of it. Now—" He straightened, forestalling any further interruption on her part. "—it took some time to work myself into Smith's good graces. My usual attempts at persuasion failed to have an impact. Smith did not intend to sell; rather, she was hopeful that by leading me on, she would continue to enjoy my company."

Behind him, Harry made a muffled noise of outrage. Tom withheld a pained wince and resisted the urge to turn around. Harry, of course, had heard all of Tom's complaints about Hepzibah. It was only now that the connection between her actions and her name was made clear. If Harry had any sense at all, he would keep his mouth shut around Tom's mother, and they would discuss this later in private.

"I was stalled, or so I thought." Tom paused for effect, then nodded as though to himself. "I turned to Harry for his opinion on the matter. He reminded me that for a harpy like Smith, money held no value and there were few objects that could tempt her. Therefore, the final approach had to be pathos."

"That woman was a menace," Harry snapped, like the words had been torn out of him. "I'm sorry, Tom, but you never told me that Smith was _that_ woman."

Tom would have liked to bury his head in his hands at the way his mother's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "She was rather awful," Tom said smoothly. "But my point is that without Harry's aid, it would not have occurred to me that I should be honest with my intentions."

"Yes, and we have here the fruit of your labours to prove it." Merope raised her brows at both of them. "I am grateful—to you also, Harry—but you fail to convince me that this was worth the trouble."

"I didn't really do anything," Harry said, a crease on his forehead signalling his frustration, "it was all Tom's hard work."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom told him. "Your insight was very valuable to me. I will reiterate that this would not have been possible without you." He reached for the box on the side table and reopened it, removing the locket and lifting it up to the light. To his mother, he said, "This locket is yours as much as it is mine. I have reclaimed it for the both of us. All I ask is that you accept it with an open mind."

Merope expelled a heavy breath. "I don't want to argue with you, Tom. As you said, it was your choice, and I will respect that." She took the locket in hand; Tom let the chain slip through his fingers. "Thank you."

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm probably overstepping again, but I just wanted to say that I know this means a lot to Tom, Mrs. Gaunt—er, Merope. And I know that I’m glad to see your family heirloom back where it belongs."

"Harry has a kind heart," Tom said, before his mother could respond. "Kinder than I deserve."

Merope pursed her lips, her dark eyes flickering from his face to Harry’s, and that was how Tom thought he had, perhaps, laid it on a bit too thick. He ought to have known better, and judging by Merope’s expression, she thought so as well.

"Before we go any further," Tom said, "there is something else to tell you."

Harry reached out, his hand touching Tom’s elbow. The hesitant gesture gave Tom pause, but it was not enough to stop him. He took a breath, trusting that everything he’d done to get them to this point would be enough.

Tom could only hope that Merope would understand.

"Harry," he said, "is not a wizard."

* * *

The resulting explanation and clarification had not resulted in shouting or tears. Instead, the atmosphere had grown… ‘stilted’ was likely too generous a word for the polite mask that Merope had presented following Tom’s declaration.

Harry may not have noticed because Merope would never be anything less than a gracious host—Tom had learned from only the best, after all. But Tom knew how his mother acted whenever confronted with a situation she did not like, and therefore he could tell that she was not pleased.

Tom dropped Harry back off at his flat and made excuses so he could return to his mother’s house. Unfortunately, Harry was too damn perceptive to allow Tom to make a quick escape.

"Did it not go well?" Harry asked quietly, hand clasped lightly around Tom’s forearm, holding him in place.

Tom did not want to answer this question, and he was irrationally annoyed that Harry was putting him in this position. Sadly, being aware of his irrational thoughts did not prevent him from acting on them.

"I’ll talk to her," he said instead, tugging his arm back. 

Harry sighed. "I’m sorry, Tom. I thought it went well. Maybe she just needs a little time? I can understand why she’d be upset."

"I’m going to talk to her," Tom repeated, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. He leant in to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek and gave Harry’s hand a squeeze. "Don’t worry."

"I don’t want to cause any problems."

"You won’t," Tom promised.

Harry looked even more uncertain upon hearing that. Tom hated it. If he could smooth this over, his life would be perfect—he would be on his way to a job he wanted, and he would have Harry by his side.

"I am going to leave before you propose something stupid and noble like breaking up."

"I would not," Harry said mulishly. He tugged on Tom’s hand. "You _are_ kind of important to me, you know."

It did please Tom to hear this, though he would be hard pressed to admit it. He gave Harry one more farewell kiss, then dropped their linked hands. "I’ll return here when I’m done, but don’t wait for me."

"Okay." Harry sighed again, wearier than the first time. "I know this probably goes without saying, but don’t be too harsh with her on my behalf, alright? I really do get why she’s not exactly happy that her only child is dating a Muggle."

"She’s my mother. I wouldn’t." But Tom understood what Harry was trying to say. If he let his emotions run away with him, he would say the wrong thing and ruin his chance.

* * *

Merope did not appear surprised to see her son at her doorstep. She stepped back into the living room, leaving Tom to close the door behind himself. The sound of the lock sliding shut was ominous in its own right. Tom straightened his posture the way his mother had taught him and followed her to the couch.

Once they were both situated in the living room, Tom cut straight to the heart of the matter. Neither of them had any appreciation for dithering when it came to discussing matters of import, and after such a long day, Tom was ready to put this matter to rest.

"I had been hopeful that meeting Harry in person first would convince you to change your opinions."

"I don’t doubt that Harry is a fine young man," Merope said calmly. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, fingers laced loosely together. "But you know where I stand on this, and I am not about to have my mind changed."

"Harry has proven himself loyal and trustworthy. The fact that he possesses no magic is no fault of his own."

"It need not be a fault for it to cause an issue."

"What does it matter if he can wave a wand or not?" Tom asked, frustrated. "My plans for the future have never included a partner. Harry’s presence in my life only improves it. Nothing else has to change. All I want is for you to accept him. Accept that he makes me happy and will play an important role in my life."

"He will leave you someday, Tom," she snapped, glaring at him. "Is that what you want to hear? He may be fine with things as they are now, but he doesn’t belong in our world. Without magic of his own, he will come to resent you, mark my words, and he _will_ leave you heartbroken."

Tom’s mood was rapidly souring. He had been so certain, so hopeful that today would go well. To now be confronted with failure was frustrating. They were dancing around the real problem, and he was sick of it. If he had to push, then he would. Harry had told him not to, but Harry did not know the extent of Merope’s issue with Muggles.

"Harry is nothing like that," Tom said coldly. "He is _nothing_ like my father."

"You don’t know that! You know nothing about him—"

"Then that is because you only ever tell me about how much you hate him!" Tom exclaimed, fists clenched. He stood up, incensed and restless, and began to pace in front of her. "You _did_ care for him, don’t you deny it. You loved him and he betrayed you," he said bluntly. "But you loved deeply enough to name your son—your _only_ son—after the man who broke your heart."

Merope’s anger faltered, her eyes brimming with tears that clung stubbornly to her lashes. "You don’t understand."

"You run the household without magic," Tom continued, lowering his voice to a regular volume. Though he was tense, the sight of his tearful mother was enough to slow his mindless rage. "I used to think it was a preference, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? I make repairs around the house with magic, but you never do, and it isn’t because you never went to Hogwarts. You _choose_ not to use magic."

It was an aversion that Tom had carried to adulthood—one that Harry had shattered quite thoroughly by mistake. Their relationship had, for the lack of a better term, opened Tom’s eyes to ways of life that were previously unknown to him, held off by the behaviours and opinions his mother had impressed upon him as a child.

"That is your choice," Tom said. "Just as Harry is mine."

"Do not mistake me for a parent who forces their trauma onto their child," Merope said, her voice now frighteningly calm. Her hands remained in her lap, her nails digging into the thick cotton of her trousers. "I have raised you with love and care, with a rightfully cautionary view towards Muggles. Not once have I disparaged Harry’s character—"

"No, you simply believe he’s going to abandon me as soon as things become too difficult for him to handle."

Merope shook her head, the motion dismissive. "We live in a different world. Harry will have to lie to his friends, his coworkers. Perhaps even to some of his own family. Is that the life you want for him? The life of a liar?"

Tom stiffened, discomfort rolling through him like a tidal wave. "It won’t be like that."

"So you say." Merope levelled him with a flat stare. "You are young, and you are my son. I will forgive your lack of respect, your lack of foresight. We want the best for each other, is that not what you said? I only want to save you the heartbreak that will come. If he leaves you, will you see him at the other end of your wand, Tom? Will you have the strength to do what must be done?"

Tom’s heart constricted, pounding painfully in his chest. "It won’t happen. Harry would never—"

"If this is temporary," Merope interrupted, "if it does not last, will you wipe his memories?"

Tom could not. He could not promise this to his mother, and he would not lie to her. His silence condemned him, but there was nothing for him to say, nothing he could do to convince his mother that he was not making a huge mistake. She did not believe him. 

Merope sighed. Her hands stretched out and took his larger hands by the wrists. She pulled him near and gazed into his eyes. "You know, in your heart, that I am right. If you must, then enjoy the time you have with him. But do not enter this blindly, Tom. Know that it will end, and that when it does, it will hurt more than you could possibly imagine."

"I love him," Tom said softly.

Merope’s sympathetic expression did not fade, and somehow that made it worse. "Then I hope your love is worth it."

* * *

Tom could not bear to see Harry, not with his mother’s words echoing in his ears. He sent a text informing Harry that he was spending the night at Merope’s—a lie, a lie, it was so much _easier_ to lie through letters on a screen than in person—and Apparated to his flat.

Solitude had once been his friend, but now it carved the worst of wounds into his heart. His flat was empty without Harry to fill the space. Even thoughts of their relationship had a veil thrown over them, the memories tinted by dread.

Harry would not leave him. Not now, not ever. Laws could not keep them apart, and neither would this. Tom was careful with his possessions: the second-hand books, the rare new item of clothing. His mother had raised him on frugality, had taught him the value of caring for what was his. The love he held for Harry, then, was one of the most precious things he owned.

Tom had not committed himself blindly to a man who would crush his heart without a second thought. He was not about to repeat his mother’s mistakes. Harry would not leave him. 

Tom dragged a hand down his face and blew out a distressed gust of air. Time to have a drink and something to eat. Tom stepped into his kitchen and cracked open his cabinets. He was used to eating out or having supper with Harry. The contents of his fridge were what Harry called that of a ‘lazy bachelor’, and though that label had never felt negative before, it certainly did now.

He was halfway through preparing a basic pasta dish when his front door rang. Tom turned the stove off and steeled himself for an inane conversation with one of his Muggle neighbours. 

So it was a surprise when his door opened to reveal Harry.

"Hey."

Tom froze in place, feet rooted to the floor, aware that his jaw had slackened in shock. "Harry?"

"Er, I asked Orion for your address and he just kind of Apparated me to the alley across the street."

Tom was never telling anyone where he lived ever again, even for emergency purposes.

"I know you said you were staying over at your mum’s," Harry said slowly, "but I had a feeling, so I thought I’d follow it through. If you want me gone, then I can go. I just—I wanted you to know you don’t have to be alone."

Tom did not want Harry to leave, but he also was not prepared for the vulnerability that would follow if Harry was to stay.

"Tom?"

Tom released his grip on the doorknob and took a silent step backwards. Harry’s confused expression cleared as he entered the flat, his eyes fixed upon Tom’s face. Tom forced himself to breathe out, to inhale enough oxygen to bring his mind clarity. He shut the door behind Harry without fanfare, then debated what to say next. Should he invite Harry to stay for supper? He hadn’t exactly prepared enough for two.

"Did you—"

Harry was suddenly in front of him. Tom fell still as Harry’s arms wrapped around his waist in an embrace. It was warm, warmer than usual. Harry laid his head upon Tom’s shoulder, and then Tom had the sense to return the gesture, placing careful hands on Harry’s back, holding him close.

"I’m sorry it didn’t go well," Harry mumbled. "Is there anything I can do?"

A million thoughts swam through Tom’s mind. Plans of action for him and Harry to take, and errant snippets of dialogue that he could use to form another logical argument to present to his mother. Endless possibilities for the future—their future together.

But then Harry snuggled in, his cold nose pressing against the side of Tom’s neck, and Tom’s thoughts quieted, drifting off into nothingness. The effect of Harry’s touch on his restless mind only reaffirmed that Harry was the right choice for him. What they had together was not something Tom could find elsewhere.

"You’re here," Tom answered quietly, "with me. That is more than enough."

"And your mum? I know she’s important to you."

"If how I feel for you fails to satisfy her," Tom said, "then there is little that can be done. I can learn to accept that."

"You shouldn’t have to settle. You deserve better than that." Harry’s mouth twisted into a frown, which was not what Tom liked to see. Tom no longer wanted to dwell on his negative thoughts. What he wanted was Harry wrapped in his arms and smiling at him.

"She simply needs to see how important _you_ are to me. How perfect we are for each other." The stress and tension from before was banished by Harry’s compassion and concern. Tom smoothed a hand over Harry’s unruly hair, petting the stray curls. "I care deeply for you, Harry."

Harry smiled at that declaration of affection. This was enough to swell Tom’s heart by a ridiculous amount. 

"I care about you, too," Harry said.

Tom let his eyes fall shut so he could bask in the glow of that. There were three other words hovering on the tip of his tongue. Tom had offered that truth to his mother in the heat of the moment, a hushed confession that had only existed in a nebulous form prior to today’s revelations. 

He did love Harry. Saying it was another matter, one that might also come with time—hopefully less time than it took for Merope to change her mind. For now, there were other ways to express his adoration.

"I have dinner on the stove," Tom said to change the subject. "Would you like to stay the night?"

"Yeah," Harry said, still smiling, still the center of Tom’s entire world. "I would really, really like that."

Tom kissed him, a light peck on the lips that widened Harry’s smile into a grin. "Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your earlier offer, Harry."

"Oh?" Harry batted his lashes innocently. "Whatever offer was that?"

Tom searched Harry’s face for a brief second, then decided he was willing to play along. "Your offer to let me have my way with you in the middle of my flat."

"Hmm, I don’t remember that." Harry tapped a finger against Tom’s chin. "I’ll have to insist you finish making me dinner first. To jog my memory and all."

"Is that so?"

"I am a firm advocate for my own self worth."

Tom was sorely tempted to kiss Harry again, just to see if he could fix that mischievous look into Harry’s eyes forever. But if they kissed now, Tom doubted they would stop, and there was a partly-cooked pot of pasta on his stove top that required his attention.

"I suppose I can be patient," Tom said thoughtfully. "You won't be going anywhere, after all."

"I don't think I'd ever want to." Harry smiled, his eyes crinkling gently around the edges. "Go anywhere else, that is."

It was true. Regardless of what his mother thought, Harry was going to stay with him. If Tom was patient, then time—along with Harry’s continued presence in their lives—would prove her wrong. She would come to understand what Tom had quickly learned: that Harry was the beautiful exception to all of their grievances with the world.

"Dinner, then," Tom promised, offering his arm in the gentlemanly manner his mother had taught him.

Harry laughed and looped his arm obligingly with Tom's, allowing Tom to lead them into the kitchen.

Someday, all would be well. For now, they would embrace the beauty of living in the moment.

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took too damn long to write, and i'm not sure why; maybe it was because i never had a planned ending for this to begin with? but i am pleased that it's finally done. i don't expect to revisit this AU in the future, but one never knows.
> 
> i did think about including an epilogue scene that skips ahead a few years, but it didn't feel necessary or something worth writing. for those of you who are curious, tom collected a quite a bit of blackmail-worthy information during his time at borgin's, and he plans to use all of that to further his political agenda -finger guns-
> 
> thank you all for reading, i hope you enjoyed the strange mix of crack/fluff/drama that was this story i started on a whim.

**Author's Note:**

> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing (and where i livewrote this story) [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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